The Patron of the Opera
by Mereidia
Summary: UPDATED: Ch 15 Part I Erik watches as passionate love story unfolds behind the scenes at the Opera in 1880. Surprisingly, witnessing one couple's tragedy gives him the courage to pursue Christine in the future months.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Fondest greetings to you all. I merely wanted to remind everyone that I cannot claim any ownership on any character that you recognize here. In that light, I'd also like to add that I can claim all ownership on the characters that you do not recognize. _

_**The Patron of the Opera – Prologue**_

"Bonjour, Jean-Phillipe. Brandy or a cigar?"

"What in _Hell's name_ are you thinking!"

"I merely offered a brandy..."

The tall, lanky, young man was scarlet with rage as he paced the office floor, waving a thick musical score above his head.

"The patrons will be infuriated if our company intended to include _that_ in our season! What in heaven's name made you even consider such a thing?"

Poligny, a middle-aged and rotund gentleman, casually leaned back in his chair nursing his glass of brandy and smoking a cheap cigar.

"I chose it because it has been the latest rage in all of the houses in Europe...the Opera Populaire cannot be outdone by the Brits now, can we?"

"But sir...Baron Harrington is British! May I remind you that he financed the production entirely from his own private funds! The London opera certainly didn't pay for the privilege to perform it; they were paid to do it! And let me not forget to mention that it was composed by an unknown and obscure composer and completed by a woman with absolutely no professional musical training! What does _that_ tell you about the quality of this piece?"

Sighing once again at his subordinate, Poligny took another puff on his cigar, stood, and poured himself another brandy. After downing it, grimacing as it burned its way down into his gut, he turned round and fixed the other man with a glare; a glare that would've been intimidating if only he hadn't been sporting a drunk's nose and standing a head shorter than his colleague.

"I am well aware that our patrons appreciate the finer points of_ grand opèra, _but I think that we all could do with a bit of a change for part of the season...a bit of fresh air if you will. Perhaps it would do us good to try something a little more light and pleasant than that dreadful Faust that we give each time."

"But Faust is a _masterpiece_!" the lanky man cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "Faust is exactly what we should be giving, not this contemporary crap!"

With that comment, he flung the score to the trash bin where the manuscript promptly came unbound. As its contents flew everywhere, Poligny made a rather comic sight as he flung himself down on his knees in an attempt to retrieve the scattered pages, spilling the remainder of his brandy over the paperwork on his desk and carelessly tossing his cigar away.

"Well, this piece may be contemporary, but it most certainly is not 'crap'. As it is, this piece has been...bloody hell, get _down_ here and help me, you idiot...um, where was I? Oh yes, it has been recommended to me by some of the finest minds in the musical world and I refuse to be a hypocrite and not give credit...oh no! Catch that one before it goes in the hearth! There, all better now. Now where was I? Oh yes, I must give credit for talent when it is due. The Opera Populaire has a reputation to uphold and we must be always willing to acknowledge musical talent, even from the strangest sources. Now why don't you just relax a bit, Jean-Phillipe? The show will only run for a week and then we're back to Faust and all of those gloomy pieces that you love so dearly. And since Baron Hortison is funding some of the production, I don't see why there is such a problem. Surely this small show cannot be taking too much from the Opera's coffers and..."

"But _that_ is exactly my point, M. Poligny!" Jean-Phillipe cried as he stomped his foot in anger, barely missing Poligny's sausage-like fingers. "In this contract, you've agreed to cover the costs of the costumes, sets, and almost every other fee for the opera. The only thing that Harrington - oh, and it's Harrington, by the way - is covering are the publicity costs! Why on earth did you ever sign this bloody contract! We will almost certainly be operating at a loss and that's even before the patrons begin pulling out their investments!"

Poligny picked himself off the floor in a less than graceful movement and once again, poured another brandy from his decanter.

"As I said earlier, Jean-Phillipe, it was advised that I assist Baron Huntington..."

"Harrington!"

"Right...Harriton and his lady composer in every way possible. This opera was recommended to me by a very reliable source and..."

Jean-Phillipe's angular face, which had been a bright hue of scarlet, now began to turn to a dark shade of plum as he puffed out his cheeks in exasperation.

"A reliable source?" he spat. "Reliable source! Is _that_ what you call that bloody extortionist!"

Poligny, who had been red and panting from his exertions only seconds earlier, paled as his eyes opened wide and he began to stammer. "You must not insult the Ghost...it is ill to insult the Ghost. You should fear for your life if you do so! The Ghost knows all and he'll..."

"Yes, yes I know. The Ghost knows all. He kills all of those who defy him. The all-knowing, omnipotent Ghost to whom you pay a fortune each month! Why in Hell's name you need to pay a ghost, I will never know or understand. But to put the Opera's reputation at stake at the demand of some...some specter is ludicrous and insane behavior! I will not allow the honor of our company to be soiled by such actions. If you decide to persist in this endeavor, then you will do so alone and without my assistance. If you chose to perform this opera, I must resign my commission as your assistant."

Jean-Phillipe stood and fixed the manager with an angry and impatient gaze. Poligny looked down and sadly shook his head. Raising his hands in a supplicating gesture, he replied. "Jean-Phillipe, please...don't leave like this. This Ghost is bad business, I know, but he's right about everything. And I cannot go against the Ghost while I'm manager here. Please understand..."

"I am sorry for you, Monsieur. By all means, obey the Ghost if it suits your fancy and I hope that he never leads you to ill times. But regardless of that, I will not be around to see the end to which he brings you. Best wishes and _bonne chance _to you monsieur. May you have a successful season."

With that, Jean-Phillipe Marrsait took his hat and coat and walked through the door without a backwards glance. Poligny shook his head and, as liquor offers great aid to any problem, went back to his bar for another brandy. His secretary, a young woman with blonde hair, peeked into the room and whispered

"_Excusez-moi, _M. Poligny...will...will M. Marrsait be returning tomorrow? Oh dear!" she gestured frantically behind him. "Your desk, monsieur!"

The spilled brandy had found the cigar's flame and now several of the disorganized papers on the desk were alight. Using the first liquid at hand, Poligny tossed the contents of his glass on the flames. Later, Poligny was forced to admit to himself that strong liquor truly does not always solve every problem.

After resorting to using his wool dress coat to stifle the flames, Poligny and his secretary began to shift through the piles of half burned papers.

"M. Poligny, here's half a letter from the patron Comte De Varens...the bottom is scorched..."

"I bet that was important..."

"A missive from the Minister of Fine Arts..."

"Keep that! It _is _important..."

"...which is also half burned away."

"Damn...throw it away and tell him I didn't get the missive if he ever asks."

"The Opera budget and financial accounts from 1875 to the present..."

"Thank God we've got those..."

"...but we're missing records from 1875, 76, and 77..."

"That's okay, they're old anyway."

"...and we've some of 78..."

"Good, that's all we need!"

"...but January through November's papers are half burned at the bottoms and the tops are covered with the ink you threw after you threw your brandy to stop the fire..."

"Damn...throw those away then. Say they're in storage. I need a drink. What else have you got?"

"There's some of the records from this year, sir, but some of them were burned too..."

"Better yet, make up the missing parts for this year and put them in a new book. Call it Volume 2. Say that 1875-1878 are all in Volume 1, which is in storage. Hah, I am not a manager for nothing!"

"...and a letter from O.G. ..."

"Figures we'd still have that...keep it..."

"...a letter from your wife..."

"Burn it..."

"...and a letter from your mistress."

"From my 'Snugglecoups'? Hand it over! How dare you pry into my personal affairs, madame? Give me a brandy and get someone in here to polish this desk! And give me my coat too...it isn't too singed and I'm cold without the fire."

"I could build a new one for you, monsieur..."

"NO! It is not necessary...it isn't that cold in here anyway, not if I've my coat..."

* * *

Underneath the floorboards, the "Ghost" sat with a smile on his lips.

'If only I had known earlier how to be rid of him, I would've suggested that opera sooner!' he thought to himself. 'But really, Jean-Phillipe Marrsait was the most competent assistant that Poligny had employed in a long time...the company will suffer without his direction. Perhaps I should suggest someone when I speak with Poligny again; someone with as much organization but not as stubborn. Yes, that should do nicely...I shall have to think on it.'

With these thoughts, the "Ghost" or Erik, as he called himself, retraced his steps back home to his lair.

Two months later Guilliame Cusset, a surprising choice as Marrsait's successor, was appointed as Poligny's assistant and the schedule for the following season was announced. True to form, the patrons scoffed when they saw the unknown opera scheduled for a week between runs of Faust and the opening of Aida but with Guilliame's assurance and remarkable aptitude for salesmanship, none pulled their resources from the opera.

"Czarina Catrina", the first piece by an unknown American composer to be played at the Populaire, was announced to run in January of 1880.


	2. Chapter One

_Author's Note: Fondest greetings to you all. Once again, I own nothing except that which you do not already recognize. _

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter One**_

She leaned forward in her seat as the carriage moved slowly through the crowded streets of Paris.

"So explain this again to me, William. You managed to get away with only paying for the publicity costs? Poligny actually agreed to cover the sets, costumes, artist salaries..._everything_?"

Her companion reclined on the velvet cushions on the other side of the brougham and absently twirled the tip of his blond mustache. "Of course, Lady O'Connor; I only used my master talents of manipulation with him; the man was putty in my hands!"

Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she smirked and replied "You, my dear baron, could not manipulate a wooden puppet much less the manager of one of the leading opera companies in the world!"

Taking her gloved hand within his own, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. "And you, my dear lady, are completely to blame. You are far too manipulative and keep me out of practice; you always manipulate me!"

Pulling her hand from his grasp, she pretended to be offended but her laughing eyes betrayed her amusement. With a sly grin, she leaned even further forward. "You, my dear baron, are in desperate need of manipulation..."

With this, the woman leaned across the carriage and kissed her companion chastely on the cheek. At that precise moment, the carriage hit a bump in the road and she lost her balance, falling into the lap of her consort. Worried, he began to check her for injuries but then she began to laugh, softly at first and then heartily. By the time the two had reached their destination at the Palais Garnier, they were both laughing hysterically with tears glistening in their eyes.

The carriage stopped at the rotunda on the Rue Scribe and the footman opened the door, allowing Baron William Harrington to descend first. Baron Harrington was tall and fair, sporting a thick head of blond hair and clear, blue eyes. Although he was past his prime, he was still muscular and most certainly did not look his age of 37 years.

Lady Rose O'Connor was then helped from the carriage. Dressed in a somber but stylish hunter green traveling gown, she looked the part of the perfect Victorian lady. Her dress, although she had been traveling for hours, was immaculate and not a stray hair was to be found in her thick knot of auburn hair. Her accessories were made with pearls; a simple pearl brooch at her collar, pearl earrings, a gold and pearl bracelet at her wrist, and a pearl studded hatpin fastened her hunter green bonnet to her head completed her ensemble.

"You are aware that they were not expecting us until tomorrow. Do you really wish to surprise them an afternoon early, my lady?"

"William, how ever are we to see how the company truly works unless we make a few impromptu visits? You are perfectly well aware that they will be on their best behavior for your visit tomorrow morning when you sign the contracts. Don't you wish to see them as they really are?"

"I agree with you on that point, my lady. But I merely thought that you may not desire to be present when I see how miserable this company is when they are not being strictly monitored."

"It is my production as well as yours, William, and so I think that I too should shoulder the burden of inefficient, talent-less opera companies. Especially this one...you managed to land a contract which gives us absolute freedom to make this the way we've always wanted it to be and I want this to be as perfect as it can possibly be."

"Well," sweeping his arm towards the grand building, "my only concern is that this production is as great as _you've_ always wanted it to be. If you're sure then let us proceed, my lady."

* * *

"How on earth are we supposed to learn Russian? As if _anybody_ in the theater could possibly understand this piece of rubbish?" La Carlotta, resident prima donna and connoisseur of fine chocolates, yelled to the directors.

"If nobody can understand the words, then nobody can understand my part and therefore nobody will understand the opera!"

Poligny, gulping at his brandy for courage, was already red in the face from listening to the soprano's ranting ever since he had posted the cast list and passed out the parts. Cusset stood from his seat in the auditorium and approached the stage with his arms spread in a gesture of supplication.

"Signora, please understand...this opera will only be running for a week and..."

"_Exactly! _The opera runs for one week, but_ I_ am expected to learn another language for it. Why not just have the 'la petite femme' translate it for us or is it too large a feat for a simple, woman composeress?"

"Actually," a strong, female voice called from the back of the auditorium, "it would be quite a simple feat for one such as me, but it would defy the intents of the composer. And I am quite sure that you, as an artist yourself, would understand the importance of being familiar with several languages lest you lose your reputation for artistic versatility." The last of this was spoken in Spanish and dripped with more than just a little sarcasm.

"Who dares to challenge La Carlotta!", "Who do you think you are?", and "They're early! Get me a drink!" were shouted simultaneously from Carlotta, Cusset, and Poligny as Lady O'Connor and Baron Harrington walked to the front of the auditorium.

"I simply wished to see the grandeur of this theater before signing the contract, messieurs." William announced. "And I thought that there was simply no time to spare as your gala performance is in a week's time. Lady O'Connor also wished to accompany myself so that she could see to the casting and arranging of the orchestra before rehearsal tomorrow morning."

"The casting, monsieur? We've already settled the casting and our orchestra is already quite well arranged!" Poligny announced, obviously ruffled by the impertinence of the two foreigners before him. "We have no need of a woman's assistance as we are quite capable of..."

"Monsieur Poligny, I thought that in the contract with...um...O.G., you had agreed to let Madame O'Connor have full control over choir and orchestra." Cusset interjected. "And of course, Madame, we will be happy to respect all of your wishes regarding this production. Won't we, M. Poligny." He bowed down in front of her and when he straightened himself, glared at Poligny until he conceded.

"Why yes, of course...I apologize for earlier, I believe that that had slipped my mind. Heh heh..." He giggled awkwardly. "I need a drink, anyone care for a brandy?"

Quirking her head thoughtfully at Poligny, Rose asked "A contract with O.G.? Who is O.G., Monsieur?"

"Oh, he's just a patron. Nobody to be concerned about. Not at all! Forget I mentioned him. Now then, who wants a brandy?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I would very much care for a brandy, Monsieur, while we look over the accounts." William said amiably. "But I believe that Lady O'Connor would much rather prefer to meet the cast and crew. Am I correct, my lady?"

Nodding and smiling to him, Rose replied "Of course, I would love to meet the members of the company, if that is at all possible."

"Anything is possible for you, Madame. Come; let me introduce you to the musicians first. The chorus and ballet are rehearsing."

With that, Cusset and Rose walked away, leaving William and Poligny together. Poligny smirked and winked conspiringly at the baron as he indicated the departing lady.

"I must say, Monsieur, you are very lucky to have such a beautiful woman as your...um...traveling companion."

William stiffened at these implications and turned to Poligny, fixing him with a cold glare as he stared down at the shorter man.

"Understand this, monsieur. _You will NOT insult that woman again in my presence. _If you so much as even insinuate anything inappropriate about her, I will make sure that you will regret it dearly. I have absolutely no interest in your company at all. But this production means a great deal to _her_ and I expect that you will do all in your power to make this piece as grand as it possibly can be. That will include improving the conduct of yourself and your staff. If I am not satisfied with their performance or yours, I will see that my demands are met. On occasion, I am not averse to using less-than-gentlemanly methods to get my way. Do I make myself clear?"

Poligny, whose face had been red with brandy merely moments before, now sported the white pallor that was normally reserved for his meetings with the Opera Ghost. Never in his career had he ever met a patron who felt so strongly about his mistress that he would threaten a fellow gentleman for the minor crime of insulting one who was little more than a common whore. Regardless, it was obvious that this man was not one to be disappointed.

"Well," Poligny stuttered in a weak tone, "I...um..."

"Perhaps we could share a bit of that brandy, Monsieur." William smiled, showing a mouthful of even, white teeth and acting as though his prior threats had never taken place.

"Certainly..." Poligny took his lead and led William to his office in search of a brandy that he badly needed. This man was not one to be disappointed.

* * *

Rose was quite enthusiastic about the production by the time she met William on the grand staircase of the opera. In her arms, she carried a stack of papers and had her handbag perched precariously on top of them. Smiling at her, William took the stack of papers and escorted her out to their carriage.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, my lady?"

"For heaven's sake William, we're done for the day so call me 'Rose'! And I had a _wonderful_ time today...there's so much to do but I really think that these people can pull it off! I need to rework the casting and change a few of the orchestrations so they feature the better musicians and come to think of it, hand me the cast list please...I need to figure out who will play Nikolai and the General Ravinov and..."

She looked at William, who was barely suppressing his laughter, and smiled and blushed at him.

"I'm rambling again, aren't I? I'm sorry, I'm just very excited."

He helped her up into the carriage and with a sly grin replied "Really? I believe I didn't notice." She flashed a smile at him then and he sat next to her in the carriage, taking both of her hands in his. "But truly, Rose, are you happy with the arrangements?"

"Yes, William. I am happy with _all _of the arrangements. Thank you for all of your help with this...I cannot express to you what it means to me to be able to do this..."

"It makes me happy to do this for you. If this work pleases you, then it pleases me as well; I can only be content when you are happy and at my side..."

The cheer fell from her face and she looked at him with eyes that were deadened without their sparkle. "William...I...I don't...I can't..." she whispered brokenly.

Straightening himself in his seat, William gathered his composure and dismissed the somber attitude with a smile and reassuring laugh. "Dear, don't upset yourself over this issue again. I will wait for you as long as I must...now enough of this talk! Let me know what it was like dealing with the brats of the stage? You've got your work cut out for you from the looks of it."

Allowing herself to forget the awkwardness of the prior seconds, Rose returned his smile weakly. "Yes, I suppose I do...but I daresay I've fared better than you, William."

"Why on earth would you say that?"

The smirk was back on her face and her eyes once again held a mischievous twinkle. "Because you've got to deal with Cusset and Poligny...God, what swine those two are. At least Cusset isn't as bad as the other. By the way, does Poligny make a habit of performing druid sacrifices in that office of his?"

"What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"Didn't the ancient druids sacrifice sheep? Every time I crossed the man today, I smelled burnt wool. Didn't you notice it as well?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I merely thought it a figment of my imagination. Though come to think of it, the smell was much stronger in his office and there were the most peculiar marks on his desk..."

The sound of their laughter rang from the carriage as it rolled through the cramped streets of Paris.

_A/N: I'd like to add that I am well aware that 'composeress' really isn't a word…but Carlotta is Prima Donna and can make up her own language as she pleases. :-D_


	3. Chapter Two

_Author's Note: Fondest greetings. Just need to reiterate what I said on the other notes that headed off my stories...I am a poor, starving student and am living proof that I do not own anything that deals with the Phantom of the Opera._

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Two**_

It was not long until Carlotta had found a formidable enemy in Lady O'Connor. As the gala was merely days away, O'Connor was literally ripping the company to shreds to get the two choral pieces to be performed to be as well as they could possibly be. Nobody and nothing was spared from her overly critical eye and in her crazed desire to make everything perfect, the company watched as she completely disregarded the unspoken rules that governed the opera hierarchy. It was a great offense to the managers and directors to openly insult the resident prima donna. Apparently, the Irish noblewoman was not aware of this fact, or was merely indifferent to it.

Regardless of the reason, Erik found that he enjoyed this foreigner's temperament immensely.

"_How_ _dare you?_ You...you pitiful Irish...washerwoman!" Carlotta squeaked; her cheeks were as red as apples and spittle was flying from her mouth.

"Washerwoman or not, I don't care about you and your ridiculous concerns. You will _not_ be cast in the role of 'Svetlana'. It was composed for a young, talented, and romantic singer...three traits that you obviously lack!" Rose retorted, her pale Irish complexion turning a shade of pink as the blood pounded angrily through her veins.

It took a great deal of control for him not to laugh aloud at the outlandish woman. Looking out of Box Five, he watched as Rose O'Connor stood among the musicians in the orchestra pit and was literally ripping through the choral arrangement. Papers were strewn all around her chair and she had lead pencil marks and ink stains on her hands and streaked across her face. With her curly auburn hair falling from its coiffure and her dress wrinkled from kneeling and sitting on every surface, she most certainly did appear as the same regal woman that had entered the opera only the day before.

But her disarray made her no less formidable when she stood up on her chair and, using her arms, hoisted herself onto the stage like a common stagehand to stand menacingly before the livid Carlotta.

Cusset, ever vigilant, came running over to placate the two warring females. "Mesdames, please! There is no need for this argument. We can easily settle this problem without a dispute. Signora, you must understand that the contract for this specific production gives Lady O'Connor exclusive command over the artists. But regardless of this, you are still our prima donna..."

"You expect me to work with this Irish washerwoman trash? A mistress of a patron? She's no better than a common whor..." Carlotta spat furiously.

"Signora! You must _not_ insult Lady O'Connor. She is our...um...guest here at the request of a very important personage." Cusset interjected, holding out his hands toward the diva as he silently begged her to back down. But true to form, Carlotta would not be silenced.

"Important Personage? Do you mean that damn O.G. again?" Seeing Cusset pale at her words, she rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Wonderful, I'm to take orders from his...!"

"Signora! You mustn't..." Cusset was practically begging like a dog at this point.

Becoming incredibly irritated by this ridiculous display, Rose decided to handle the situation once and for all. "Monsieur Cusset, I truly do not care about _la signora's _speculations on my morality. I only care that this opera is performed to the best of all abilities concerned and that Baron Harrington's funds were worth the investment."

Turning once again to Carlotta, Rose's eyes seemed to glow with fury before she set her face, almost like a stone mask, and began to walk slowly towards the leading lady.

"Listen to me, signora. I have no patience for you or for your tantrums. If I had my way, I would have you removed from the cast entirely. However, as the managers claim to need you for the other productions, I suppose that you must perform in this gala piece as well. You will perform, but only as a chorus member. _Now sit down and learn your lyrics_!"

Carlotta, although scarlet with rage, sat down as Rose stood glowering at her. With the diva's temper contained, Rose took a moment to compose herself and turned toward the rest of the chorus with a broad smile plastered upon her face.

"Well, as we have that settled, I have decided what we will be doing for the gala performance next week. Instead of 'Svetlana's Aria' and 'Vladistav and Nikolai's Duet' as M. Poligny said, we will be performing the two choral pieces of the opera; one composed by the Enoch Ardenson and one by myself. We will need one strong mezzo-soprano for the role of Czarina Catrina and a baritone for Nikolai for the 'Path to War' piece. I would like to also divide the soprano and tenor sections into two groups as many of these parts feature first and second upper parts that make these wonderful harmonies..."

She continued with a ramble of directions and Erik watched as all of the company, even Carlotta, rushed about to get things perfectly to her specifications so as to not invoke her wrath. When rehearsal finally started, he had to admit that he had never seen the company run so productively and efficiently.

'It is regretful that the foreigner is a woman...she would make one hell of a manager for this theater.' he thought to himself as he watched her run in between the orchestra, the chorus, and the ballet. On a curious note, ballet mistress Madame Giry had been taken immediately with Rose (an act that was nearly as rare as an immaculate conception!) and was more than willing to work with Rose's suggestions on including some Russian techniques in the dance sequences of the opera.

By the end of the day, Erik truly regretted that he had not required the American opera to run for a longer period of time. Never had the opera chorus learned their music so rapidly, never had the balance in the orchestra been so perfect, and even La Carlotta's screeching sounded better by the end of the afternoon.

_'Who would've ever suspected that it would take an Irish washerwoman to shape this place up?'

* * *

_

Rose was absolutely exhausted by the time rehearsal came to an end. She took great pains to thank everyone for their efforts which she felt were quite good considering the power struggles earlier in the day. Normally after a rehearsal such as this one, she was excited and optimistic; instead, she was tired and extremely disappointed that not a single mezzo-soprano or alto would fit the part of Czarina Catrina. It pained her to admit that the best option she had was La Carlotta, despite the soprano range, but she would rather die than admit it to herself at this point. She was well aware that she would have to cast the diva in that role come the final run of the production but she had still hoped for a better option for the gala.

_'Enoch would kill me if I ever allowed the Czarina to be played with a Spanish accent...he said that an Irish lilt was bad enough!"_

And so, given the lack of time, she concluded that the best option would be to perform the role herself for the gala.

'_It was, after all, composed for me...'_

After arranging to meet with the costumers on the following day, Rose headed out in search of Madame Giry in hopes of securing some of the younger choristers and ballet students from the _Conservatoire_ to give the chorus more depth. Sadly, her introduction to the company did not include an introduction to the geography of the opera itself and she was hopelessly lost backstage within minutes. She asked directions of everyone she saw and walked for nearly an hour among the props and sets that were stored in the first three cellars of the opera. Finally, after finding a janitor who eagerly described his job with great detail that included every possible piece of information regarding the art of rat-catching, she found her way back up to the surface. She kept searching and had nearly given up for the night, but then she rounded a corner and came face to face with a shocked Madame Giry and face to mask with the Phantom of the Opera...

"It is good to see the company cooperating with my commands for once, Madame. I trust that you are pleased with the arrangements for this production?"

"As always, master, your arrangements have proven to be very profitable and beneficial to the company. I believe that the audiences will be thrilled by this production and you have done a great thing by recognizing this work by an unknown composer."

Erik, in the shadows as always, tried to ignore the fact that Mme. Giry often referred to him as 'master'. The word itself just made him extremely uncomfortable. 'Too many memories from the past, I suppose.' He thought grimly. Refusing to show his discomfort, he merely smirked behind the mask and silently took his salary from Mme. Giry.

"If you are satisfied with the arrangements, Mme. Giry, then that is all. Do you find Lady O'Connor to possess sufficient abilities to act as a director?"

Mme. Giry, who normally looked to the floor when speaking to the Phantom now raised her eyes and looked straight into the gold ones behind the mask. "Yes, she is quite capable and quite personable, master. A good woman, despite the rough exterior and despite what Carlotta may have to say about her personal conduct."

"I noticed that she was successfully able to par herself against our leading lady. Her wit and resilience is a credit to her. And I also noticed that you and she got along quite amiably."

"Why yes, I suppose we did. She is a good girl, quite clever in fact from what I could see."

"Yes, well I suppose that she'd have to be considering..." But Erik never finished his statement for the aforementioned 'she' had literally walked right into him.


	4. Chapter Three

_Author's Note: Once again, I'd like to add that I do not own Erik, Christine, Raoul, Poligny, etc_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Three**_

"Goodness, pardon me!" Rose exclaimed as she walked right into the black shadow. "Forgive me, I didn't see you there, monsieur..." she said as the shape turned towards her; only a white mask and glowing gold eyes were visible. Over his shoulder, she could see Mme. Giry's face lose all of its color and assume a deathlike grey pallor.

Completely unsettled but refusing to show her discomfort, she fixed her face into a smile and amiably approached the two.

"I apologize for disturbing you both. I merely wished to discuss something with Mme. Giry whenever it is convenient for you, Madame. Monsieur," she extended her hand towards Erik, "I am Rose O'Connor. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Her hand had captured his shocked one and she gave it a firm shake as if she were a fellow business associate. She nodded towards Mme. Giry and turned to leave.

Mme. Giry whimpered behind Erik, fearful of a display of his wrath. If anything would've encouraged him to act politely to the Irishwoman, the whimper did - he could not bear being an object of fear to the few people for whom he had respect.

"Mademoiselle...please wait."

She turned to face him with a somewhat amazed expression, as if she did not expect to draw his attention. He swore he could hear the rapid beating of Mme. Giry's heart and worried that the poor woman would hyperventilate should she not control her panicked breathing.

'_I will not prove myself to be the monster that they claim me to be...'_

He composed himself and walked towards Lady O'Connor and bowed to her in what he hoped was a polite gesture.

"You have not disturbed us, mademoiselle, not at all. I was just commenting to Mme. Giry that you did a remarkable job today. If I do say so, the chorus has never sounded better on the first day."

Flattered, Rose briefly curtsied to him. "I thank you for your praise, monsieur. May I be so rude to inquire after your name?"

Erik, caught off guard, hesitated and Mme. Giry took the opportunity to step between them and started to pull Rose away from the masked opera ghost. "He's just a patron my dear, one of many. And now exactly what was that that you needed to discuss with me?"

She continued to pull on Rose's arm but before she could shepherd the girl away, Rose had turned back towards Erik and boldly asked "You are this 'O.G' fellow, aren't you?"

Mme. Giry nearly fainted and even Erik was shocked at the frankness of this woman. He recovered himself quickly and whispered in a low voice "What on earth would make you think that?" hoping that he could somehow evade discovery from this impertinent woman.

"Well," Rose began, unfazed by the strong reactions of the other two, "everywhere I turn there are people whispering about this mysterious patron who goes by the name of 'O.G.'. And then, I hear about how a patron called 'O.G.' secured me my place as the director of this opera. And most importantly, everyone was saying that O.G. would be watching the rehearsal today and as no other patrons have ever seemed to bother with first day rehearsals and you did, I deduced that it may possibly be yourself. Am I correct?"

"Let me understand something, mademoiselle. You only know this O.G. as a patron of the opera and as nothing else?" Erik asked, examining her face in search of the truth.

"Is O.G. something other than a patron, monsieur?" she countered as Erik became even more flustered. He most certainly did not wish to be discovered by this woman and did not wish to resort to violence to assure her discretion.

'_All I wanted to do was to prove that I was no monster and now I might have to kill her to keep her silent...'_

But she reacted quite unexpectedly to his obvious agitation as she smiled again at him and again, took his hand in hers. "Forgive me for being completely impertinent, but if you are this 'O.G.' then I am truly indebted to you and would very much like to thank you for your assistance. You have no idea how much Baron Harrington and I appreciate your time and efforts on our behalf. Enoch Ardenson would've appreciated them as well. And if you are not O.G., then I thank you again for the compliment regarding my work with the company."

Her green eyes shone with honest gratitude and with her soft hand resting in his he relented although he was positively certain that he would soon regret his actions.

"I am your 'O.G', mademoiselle and I appreciate your thanks. It is a pleasure to have such a talented composer here at this opera house."

"Oh, I'm not the composer, Monsieur O.G.; I'm merely the producer. Enoch Ardenson was the composer and I try to bring his work to life. "

"Enoch Ardenson? I confess that I was not familiar with that name when I came across the opera. Will we soon be gifted with any new compositions by this composer?" Erik questioned, hoping to shift the subject of conversation off of himself and onto what he considered to be a much safer topic.

Rose pulled her hand away and looked over Erik's shoulder for a moment before answering. She looked over at Mme. Giry, who at this point believed that she was hallucinating as she witnessed the Phantom of the Opera interact with an unknown opera patron. But when Rose's eyes again sought his, they were filled with misery and grief; the likes of which he had never thought possible from a woman so full of life such as herself. "Enoch Ardenson died nearly four years ago, monsieur. He died along with General Custer and his troops at Little Big Horn in America."

"What do you mean by saying that he was killed in battle? This composer was a soldier?" Erik asked, his golden eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes, Monsieur. He was a cavalryman and died before this work was completed. The piece was returned to me and I took it upon myself to finish his work."

"Why on earth would you have been the recipient of this piece? What possible relationship could an Irish noblewoman have had with a poverty-stricken soldier?"

"We were very close friends, monsieur, and the American army takes great pains to return the personal effects of their soldiers, especially when it is impossible to send the deceased back to their families. He had started the opera while still in New York and had much of it completed before he left. I merely had to write the final chorus scene and decide how to end the opera, though I suppose that he would've preferred it to have a happier end for the heroines."

"You expect me to believe that a common foot soldier composed this work and you just happened to be the recipient of it? I should've known that this was a farce." Erik replied coldly, believing that she was lying about the true nature of the work that he had assumed to be a legitimate piece. This was too much for Erik to believe, that the composer of this work had been little more than an uneducated soldier in the American army. He had read and studied this opera before recommending it to the managers and had formed definite opinions on the unknown composer's education and musical ability; no common cavalryman would've had the abilities to compose a piece of this magnitude. In Erik's opinion, knowing in part the dubious reputation of Baron Harrington, he did not doubt for a moment that this woman could possibly have been an accomplice to the theft of this musical masterpiece from its more deserving owner.

Rose looked back into the golden eyes behind the mask and the misery that had filled her eyes had almost instantaneously been replaced by a look of anger and defiance. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as she replied in a cold, cutting tone.

"To clear up the rumors before they begin, I'd like you to know that I was in fact engaged to the late Mr. Ardenson. I was not his mistress as some say and have taken it upon myself to finish and perform his opera after his death. I do hope that you have no problems with this information and you shall find that I have always acted with propriety in mind, unlike many other unsavory patrons and noblemen."

"And tell me how an Irish noblewoman such as you would have been acquainted with an American soldier? And why would this American soldier compose an opera in Russian? You must admit, mademoiselle, this story is a little hard to believe."

"His mother was from Russia although his father was an Irishman. And I lived for many years in the cities of the United States before I returned to Europe and met him in New York before he left with the army. He was my music instructor then."

"A noblewoman engaged to a teaching soldier? Impossible!" Erik exclaimed and Rose's eyes shot daggers at him as she took the comment as an insult to her late betrothed.

"Not all nobles are wealthy, monsieur, although I am certain that you may be too ignorant to be aware of that. And Enoch was one of the greatest men I've ever had the honor of knowing, regardless of his position in society. How dare you pass judgments on a man you've never known? And who are you to judge me? _How dare you!_"

Her voice, which had been loud as she had bullied the prima donna into submission, was now a dark whisper that lent a dangerous undertone to her words. Her eyes burned like gimlets that were set in her perfect, porcelain face. The lack of color in her cheeks gave her the appearance of an angry spirit and she moved forward in a threatening gesture.

His hand unconsciously fell upon the Punjab lasso hidden in his cloak and his fingers curled around the coils of the rope...


	5. Chapter Four

_Author's Note: Salut again! Just one more little reminder that I am very poor and have more debt than I would ever like to admit to...needless to say Erik and Co. are not mine or else the debt wouldn't be mine either!_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Four**_

Erik had seen Poligny angry before. Hell, he had _made_ Poligny angry before just for his own amusement. But despite his greatest plots and schemes, he had never seen Poligny act like this before. The man was practically spitting fire and even the placating Cusset, armed with a large decanter of vintage cognac, was having no effect on calming this raging inferno.

"The little whore wants to use the Conservatoire students! The students of the National Academy! Who the _fuck_ does she think she is?"

"Well, Monsieur," Mme. Giry started "we do use the younger students in some productions that require child performers..."

"And," Cusset chimed in "it will give them an edge when they come to work full time at the opera. They will have already performed in a major stage production. It will be profitable to us in the long run. You see, M. Poligny? Very profitable indeed..."

Shaking his head angrily, Poligny yelled "What the hell is wrong with our chorus as it is? Can't she be satisfied with the finest opera company in Europe; a company run by the finest directors in the bloody world?"

It took all of Erik's self control to hold back a snicker at the last comment.

"She merely wants to add a few dancers to the ranks...nothing major, monsieur, but just five or six girls who have enough training to be hired by us next year. She wants to use them specifically to learn certain dances so that they can focus on the Russian technique without hampering our other productions. I personally agree with her idea." Mme. Giry replied in a calming tone, signaling to Cusset to not refill the brandy glass. Despite her intentions, Cusset complied with Poligny's request and filled the crystal class to the brim.

"See, Monsieur Poligny, it gives the rest of our staff a chance to focus on the other productions this season. Isn't that a good idea?" Cusset added, handing Poligny the refill of his brandy.

"It's a bloody impertinent idea, that's what it is..." he gulped down the glass and handed it back to Cusset with a signal to refill the glass for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Well, Monsieur..." Mme. Giry continued, "it would appear that O.G. also approves of this idea and you are aware that..."

"I am _perfectly_ aware that I have to listen to the bastard. Marrsait was right..." Poligny shook his head regretfully. "He was right and I should've never allowed this. Never should've allowed this..." He downed his brandy and fell into a fit of coughing as the brandy burned its way down into his gullet. Erik couldn't help but laugh at the display of the rotund man hacking himself red and his ghostly laugh echoed throughout the office.

If possible, Poligny turned even redder than before and his fat cheeks began to quiver with barely repressed anger.

"I am putting a stop to this immediately!" he shouted and slammed his glass on his desk as he stormed out of the room.

Erik hurried to follow from his hiding space behind the back wall of the manager's office; he was extremely curious to see exactly how Rose would respond to Poligny given his drunken courage and her natural inclination towards the explosive.

_'God knows, the woman gave me more trouble than anyone else in ages...this might be quite entertaining!'

* * *

_

_**Three nights prior...**_

Erik and Rose were glaring at each other with a mixture of extreme hatred and disgust and it was impossible to say exactly which of the two's eyes were glowing with more fury. She stood before the tall phantom with a threatening aura about her as he looked down at her and fingered the coils of his Punjab lasso under his cloak. In the back of each of their minds, they absently wondered exactly how a simple meeting could have soured so quickly, but both had squashed the thought to focus on how to better intimidate the one before him.

They stood locked in their hatred for what seemed to be an eternity, he stroking his lasso and she grabbing at her skirts in a death-grip that left her knuckles white with the strain of restraining herself. Both watched the other as a hunter watches his prey; each waiting for the other to move before striking.

Of course, the strain of suspense was too great for the proud Mme. Giry and she promptly gave into the hyperventilation that she had been holding at bay. After about three breaths, she fainted into an ungraceful on the floor.

The sound had been enough to distract Rose and Erik from their glaring contest and Rose rushed over to the figure of the fallen ballet mistress while Erik remained in the shadows, forcing himself to regain his composure.

"Bloody hell, she's gone and fainted." Rose exclaimed while examining Mme. Giry's unconscious form. "You wouldn't happen to have smelling salts about you, Monsieur?" she asked coldly to the man lurking in the shadows.

"Of course I do not have smelling salts. Don't all good ladies of breeding such as yourself carry them constantly?" he replied with a strong sarcastic tone in his voice. Rose looked up and fixed him with another glare before returning her attention to Mme. Giry.

"I confess that I am not one normally given to fainting fits. Another extremely unladylike behavior on my behalf; you can blame my bloody Irish constitution. Of all the blasted times to faint, she would pick now..." Rose muttered as she checked for the pulse and smoothed the hair and skirts of her patient.

Erik was now extremely grateful for his mask; even after all of these years he still blushed when women, especially ladies of breeding, used expletives. He was removed from his thoughts when Rose announced with a sigh "I suppose you'll have to carry her to my dressing room..."

_"What!"_ Erik exclaimed, inwardly cringing as his voice betrayed him and allowed the word to come out as a squeak.

She sighed again and looked over at him with an expression of tired resignation on her face. "You'll have to carry her. It isn't too far from here...at least I think so..."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You don't intend to leave her on the bloody floor do you?" she asked with a note of exasperation in her voice. "We haven't any salts, so we've got to move her to where I can get some."

"You expect me to carry her through the opera house? How do you wish for me to do that?" he asked angrily. _'How stupid can this woman be?'_

"You pick her up in your arms and walk slowly towards your destination. Honestly, it isn't as though I asked you to carry Carlotta! I can't carry her and I refuse to drag her. You have to help me."

"How the hell do you propose that I, the Opera Ghost, manage that? How am I to explain why I was seen carrying our ballet mistress!" he shouted at her.

An expression of confusion crossed her face as she asked "The Opera _what?_".

"What did you think "O.G." stands for? Olivier Garfunkle!"

"You mean to tell me that they think you are a ghost."

"Yes."

"And "O.G." actually stands for Opera Ghost? They actually refer to a patron by that name?"

_"Yes!"_

The first thing to show the crack in Rose's composure was the trembling of her shoulders. The corners of her mouth began to lift into a smile and she bowed her head, the shaking of her shoulders growing in intensity and her breath began to come in quick gasps. She contained herself for a moment but was powerless to resist the utter irony of the situation and, before she could stop herself, erupted into gales of laughter.

Erik could hardly believe it. One minute ago, the woman before him was glaring at him with an intensity that would've done him credit and the next she was kneeling on the dusty floor and laughing as if there were no tomorrow. _'The bitch is insane...'_

"_Surely_ you jest! You have to be kidding me...I've been summoned by a ghost! This is truly ridiculous!" she stammered in-between her chokes of laughter.

"I fail to see exactly what is so humorous, mademoiselle."

"Oh that's simple, Monsieur...you are! You're supposed to be a ghost and now it's no wonder why they're all wary of you! This really is just too hysterical!" By this point, she was wiping away the tears that were running from her eyes and down her porcelain cheeks.

"If you would bother to compose yourself..."

"Don't you mean to _decompose?_" and again, she doubled over in another fit of laughter.

Erik's patience was wearing quite thin and since Rose was showing no inclination to cease her merriment, he stepped forward and lifted the slight form of Mme. Giry into his arms.

"Would you please be so good as to tell me_ where_ your dressing room is, mademoiselle?"

Rose stood up from where she had be kneeling on the ground and wiped the remainder of the tears from her eyes, still trying to get her breathing back to normal.

"I am not sure where it is in respect to this location, but it's the one with the obscenely large mirror in it at the end of the one hallway. The one they say is haunted...I suppose you'd know all about that, _Monsieur Garfunkle_."

Erik's golden eyes glared at her in the darkness before he dignified her remark with a response. "I'm well aware of the room you are referring to. You must go ahead of me to warn me of passerby. I will _not_ be seen, not even for the sake of Mme. Giry."

"Very well, Monsieur. Just give me directions as we go along then; I'll stave off the enemy!"

Considering the likelihood that she had never participated in such a stealthy endeavor, Rose did quite an admirable job of keeping the employees of the opera away from the very-much-alive opera ghost. In fact, Erik could easily imagine the multitude of pranks that he could arrange provided he had an accomplice of this caliber. As they rounded the last bend to her dressing room, she waved for him to stop as she went ahead and addressed the two managers who had 'camped out' at her doorway. She deftly swept them away to an unknown destination down the hall under some false pretense after she had been certain to unlock her door. Once they were out of sight, Erik swiftly moved into the dressing room and laid Mme. Giry on the chaise.

The large mirror showed him his reflection and even now, he cringed at the sight; he had always loathed mirrors and just because this one had another purpose useful to him did not make him loathe it any less. _'Though it is quite ironic that they'd place her here...at least I can keep an eye on her from the Communard passage..."_

Instead of focusing on his shortcomings, he looked around the dressing room in search of the smelling salts. This task, however, proved to be much more difficult than expected as every surface in her dressing room was covered completely with papers and books. There were no toiletries save for a lone perfume bottle to be found anywhere, not even in the drawers in the dresser that had been provided for her. He absently wondered how she had managed to create such disorder after being at the opera for merely a few hours.

He had checked the dresser and had turned his attentions to the small bureau also provided in the room before he had made his first discovery of the evening. Like the dresser, the bureau was covered with paper and books, but these were a mix of scientific as well as musical natures. He examined the scientific ones and found them to be pertaining to chemistry principles and he uncomfortably noticed that feminine handwriting completely covered the margins of the page with technical side notes that even he could not comprehend. Looking at the musical ones, he noticed that again her handwriting in between the staves proved that she did in fact know how to arrange music and might actually be a master at the art.

The coup de grace came when he cracked the lock on the bottom drawer of the bureau and shifted through its contents; inside he found a large musical manuscript and some weathered photographs and line portraits. He uncomfortably noticed that most of the pictures were of an unattractive man of about 35 years in a poor suit and later, in an American soldier's blue uniform. Even from the line portraits, he could see how the man's angular features did nothing to soften the overly prominent nose and the almost lack of an upper lip was out of harmony with the fullness of its lower mate. His hair was pulled away from his face in the posed photographs but hung loosely around his face in the line portraits. The most striking feature of the man was his eyes which even in the drawings, Erik could tell that they were a dark brown or black.

Upon inspection, the manuscript was written completely in Russian in a sloppy male's hand and was apparently the first version of 'Czarina Catrina'. He saw that the scraggly handwriting encompassed almost the entirety of the manuscript except for the last large chorus scene at the finale; at that scene a distinctly feminine writing appeared, the same as in the chemistry journals, and ended the opera. He swallowed uncomfortably as he examined the remainder of the contents of the drawer; tied in a bundle with an old silk ribbon were several letters addressed to Rose O'Connor and also written in the same sloppy hand. The last thing he examined was a telegram dated three and a half years prior that pronounced a Lt. Enoch Ardenson missing in battle.

The sound of a key in the lock shook Erik out of his reverie and he stuffed the contents back into the drawer, closed it, and rushed back to the side of Mme. Giry. Rose walked in and quickly fastened the bolts to the door before turning to him and asking in an exasperated voice "You haven't revived her yet?"

"I was unable to locate the smelling salts, mademoiselle." he answered quietly, still somewhat embarrassed to learn that her story had in fact been proven to be legitimate. She threw up her hands and walked over to the perfume bottle and brought it over to Mme. Giry.

"You intend to revive her with lavender scents, mademoiselle?"

"For one with such an intimate knowledge on the habits of noblewomen, you should recognize that the salts are kept in the bottom half of this bottle."

Keeping his eyes averted from her, Erik muttered in a low voice "Before you revive her, mademoiselle, I believe I owe you an apology..."

Rose looked up at him with something akin to surprise. "I didn't believe your story...it seemed to be too coincidental for everything to be true. I didn't think that it would be possible for a soldier and a noblewoman to be so well educated as to collaborate on this masterpiece. I'm afraid that I suspected that you were taking the credit for another's work..."

"And how, pray tell, did you determine that my story was true?"

"I just...I..." Erik cringed as his voice betrayed him yet again this evening.

Rose looked over to the bureau and saw that the papers and books had been moved from their prior locations and, walking to the desk, opened the formerly locked drawer before fixing Erik with another glare. "Apparently you did not know that you need a key to lock this drawer once it was opened." she stated coldly. "I would very much like to hear your explanation of why you felt compelled to search through my private things, _especially_ this locked drawer."

"I...I was looking for the salts, mademoiselle. You have no toiletries in this room and I thought that they might be located there. I apologize for my misconduct..."

"You had _better_ apologize! How dare you search through my things? I suppose you read through the letters as well, are you going to mock me now?" she spat as she spread out her arms and approached him. "Are you going to tell everyone how I still cherish the steamy words of love from a man now frozen in his grave? Does it give you pleasure to laugh at my misfortune, at my misplaced adoration in a man who loved me enough to leave me and die for a worthless cause? The society columns will adore that tale; a noblewoman of reduced circumstances falls in love with an ignorant musician and then turns to the arms of a family friend for comfort in his wealth and in his bed. Perhaps you'd like to ruin William with this knowledge as well; let the world know that the woman that he adores is still madly in love with a ghost!"

She fell to her knees with tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs shaking her small frame. Erik searched desperately for something to say, something to stop this tide of emotion that he had unleashed. He wished that he could offer her a handkerchief, but given the lack of usefulness of such an item to himself, he had none to offer. He instead opened one of the drawers where he had found a few of the items and picked one that was not covered with streaks of ink or lead. Handing her the small square of cloth, he knelt down alongside her on the floor and in his most calming voice whispered to her "I never intended to insult you or his memory. I looked through your drawers, but did not read a single word of the letters. And I swear that I shall never tell a living soul about how much you cherish his memory. I give you my word."

"You swear this to me?" she choked. "You did not read the letters?"

"No, I did not. And I will not tell a soul about how you keep his portrait near your heart. I swear...besides, who would listen to me; I'm just the opera ghost!"

She laughed weakly at this last comment and moved to rise from the floor. She straightened her skirts and walked back over to the drawer, lifting out one of the line portraits and examining it closely. "I loved him dearly, Monsieur Garfunkle... I did these line portraits while he worked on the opera after our lessons. The army took great pains to return all of his effects but didn't send the one piece I held most dear besides this opera...God, how I miss him..."

His curiosity was unexplainably piqued. "What didn't they send?" he asked quietly.

"A locket. I had given him a small, gold locket as an engagement gift. There were line portraits of us inside. It wasn't worth much more than its sentimental value, but it had been my mother's and I cherished it. He also claimed to love it dearly and wore it next to his heart until he died. I suppose it made its way into a grave robber's pocket, or perhaps the loincloth of one of those savages..." her voice died away as she contemplated her lover's final fate.

Inexplicably, Erik found himself moved by her tale. Searching for an appropriate response, he whispered "I am very sorry for your loss, mademoiselle."

Wiping the tears from her face and patting her hair back into place, Rose just sighed and muttered "So am I..."

* * *

They had revived Mme. Giry with the smelling salts and when she had awakened, she was quite surprised that Rose and Erik both managed to get along quite well with each other considering how frightening they both were acting before she lost unconsciousness.

The two had come to a truce and in the last days had forged a friendship out of respect they had gained for other. They had never spoken since, but Rose was very appreciative of the support that Erik had garnered for her from the managerial staff as well as the chorus and ballet and Erik was forced to admit that Rose's skills as a musician and director were quite well developed. Many times in the last days, she had proven herself to be proficient on several instruments and could even dance better than some of the ballerinas. But above all, she was a fantastic director.

She ran circles around Monsieur Reyer and Monsieur LaFalle, the music and acting directors and never considered herself to be above any job that needed doing. Without complaint, she had basted seams alongside the costume master and mistress when the demand for costumes exceeded what they would be capable of producing on their own. She had taken over the accounts along with Cusset and, in true form with her unofficial nickname, helped the other washerwomen clean the stage and theater in preparation for the gala. Despite her status as a woman, she had garnered the respect of the opera company at large, save for its head manager and prima donna.

Poligny could not stand her know-it-all attitude and now stormed out to the auditorium with his drunken bravado. He was prepared to shout when Mme. Giry grabbed him from behind and stifled his mouth with her hands.

"_Listen! _Listen to them! They sound better than they ever have before. And it's because of _her._ She's done a better job with the chorus and orchestra than anyone else we've hired. Even the ballet rats look wonderful!"

And his words were true. Instead of the sopranos screeching their parts and the brass and percussion's habit of being overpowering, the chorus and orchestra were perfectly balanced. With the sopranos divided into two separate groups, the altos could actually be heard and with their part added into the mix, there were complex and intricate harmonies that had never been possible with this ensemble before. The basses added a depth that caused the sound to become an almost solid entity; one that flowed around the listeners like water and tempted one to reach out and touch it.

The ballerinas were flowing gracefully along with the music rather than their usual habit of prancing about the stage. Their fluid arm movements and steps were exquisite to watch and even Erik, who had followed Poligny to the auditorium, was completely surprised by the quality of this performance.

Rose directed the orchestra and chorus from her chair in the pit and after sustaining the last note of the piece, she signaled to cut off the sound.

Without speaking, she hoisted herself up onto the stage and stood before the chorus, looking out at the people with no expression on her face.

"Well, what do you think?" Carlotta spoke out.

Rose turned and glared at her and Carlotta visibly flinched, but then her glare softened and a smile spread across her face.

"Wonderful, you all did wonderfully. I confess that I've never heard a performance of this quality before, especially considering that it is only the third day of rehearsal. I thank you for your work...I truly thank you."

And the orchestra and chorus broke out into cheers and applause; thrilled with their hard-earned success.

"Hold on, everyone...hold on!" Rose announced. "Just because you sound lovely today doesn't mean our hard work is finished. We must continue to work even harder to ensure our success at the gala and this part will be harder than just learning the music...we must master the lyrics."

"The lyrics? In Russian, I presume?" Carlotta spoke out again, harboring a bit of a whining tone in her voice that grated on Rose's worn nerves.

"_Yes..."_ she hissed between her teeth. "For the _last_ time, we are singing this in Russian! The composer asked for Russian and Russian he shall have! If he wanted it in French, he would've composed it in French. If he preferred for his piece to be in German, then it would've been in German. But imagine this, _signora_," she rasped, her green eyes flashing fire at the Spanish woman, "the composer was Russian. His Czar and Czarina are supposed to be the rulers of Russia. Can you guess what language he wrote his lyrics in?"

She walked a complete circle around the chair where Carlotta was sitting, which, incidentally, was located in front of and apart from the rest of the chorus. She preferred to display her diva status in every method she could possibly conceive of. However, this did not sit well with the Irishwoman who could not bear the childish behavior of the prima donna and Rose decided then and there that she could not stand any more of the trouble the prima donna was instigating.

She leaned over Carlotta's shoulder and in a low, threatening voice began to whisper something inaudible in her ear. Carlotta lost the rosy red coloring in her cheeks and her mouth hung open with shock. But then Rose straightened and faced the rest of the artists; another wide smile on her face.

"So, signora, do you have any more objections?" she asked in a sweet voice. When Carlotta shook her head in the negative, Rose's smile widened and satisfaction flittered across her face for a brief moment.

"Then we are decided and will proceed. Are there any questions from anyone?"

"Madame O'Connor?" a timid voice from the ballet called out.

"Yes, mademoiselle...you're from the Conservatoire are you not?"

"Yes, madame. I am Meg Giry, Mme. Giry's daughter. I was just wondering how we would learn the language in less than a week..."

"You won't be learning the language; you'll be learning the lyrics. I will be helping, especially with the ladies and two of our other artists also are fluent in Russian and have graciously agreed to help."

"But, madame..." Meg asked "Christine told me that they use a different alphabet than the French one. How will we learn to read the language in this short amount of time?"

"Don't worry, Megan; I'll explain everything. But first, which of you is Christine?" A petite blond woman in the back row of the ballet slowly raised her hand. "Oh, another Conservatoire student. And you are correct, mademoiselle. But that is why I've taken the liberty of writing them with French pronunciations so everyone can understand how to say them. So let us take a break for lunch and meet again in an hour to begin chipping away at these lyrics. Conservatoire students, please see me for a few moments."

"She took them _already? _Who gave her permission to take them? Who the _fuck_ gave you permission?" Poligny shouted from his place in the back of the auditorium.

"And a good morning to you as well, M. Poligny." Rose called out. "Will you excuse me for a moment, ladies?" and she walked to the back of the theater.

Cusset always prided himself on his foresight and now was no exception; he had brought along the brandy decanter and a glass in preparation for the battle of wills that would ensue. He shoved a glass in Poligny's palm as Rose approached with head held high, starched skirts rustling, and green eyes flashing fire.


	6. Chapter Five

_Author's Note: Erik and Co. ain't mine…but the rest of the fellows are!_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Five**_

Baron William Harrington was truly enjoying his stay in Paris, city of lights, love, and lust. He spent his days indulging himself in the luxuries of noble life; the late morning lie-ins, breakfasts in bed, and warm bubble baths were a necessary part of the nobleman's life given the late evenings filled with entertainment ranging from the most refined art displays to the most debauched drunken revelries. At the moment, he was stretched out in a bubble bath heated to his favorite temperature while his manservant shaved away his beard and shaped his blond mustache.

Normally he considered this to be the most relaxing part of his day, but this morning he was unable to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something horribly important.

"Tell me, Jacques, did Mrs. Ottenburg wake Lady O'Connor this morning?"

The small manservant swallowed uncomfortably and brought his razor to the stubble on the baron's neck. "I believe, my lord, that Lady O'Connor did not return to the estate last evening."

"What!" the baron shot up in the tub, barely missing the shaving blade with his throat. "She didn't even send word and stayed there un-chaperoned?"

"I believe, my lord, that she did send a message but you had already left for the evening..."

Sighing and shaking his head sadly, William muttered "Damn this to hell, Jacques. I honestly don't know how much longer I can bear with this."

"Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but you do encourage her. Perhaps if you refused..."

"How could I refuse her this, Jacques? I cannot refuse her something so small that makes her so happy. I couldn't bear to deny her anything."

"But, sir, she is crazed with determination! She is more in love with a dead man and his music than she is with you and..."

"You forget your place, Jacques!" William slammed his fist down on the porcelain of the tub.

"Sir, you hated Ardenson and the woman you desire is in love with him!"

"Damn you, Jacques! _Damn you_!" The baron stood up in the bath, water splashing all over the polished tile floor. The manservant stumbled to the door, eyes wide with fear as the baron threw the glass soap dish at the wall above his head. Shards flew in all directions, embedding themselves in the walls and doorframe.

"Get out of my sight this instant!" The manservant rushed from the chamber as William stood with the water running off of his body. He stood there until his breathing had calmed and then sat back into the tub and let the water relax his shaking limbs.

_'Damn him for reminding me...'_ he thought bitterly as he let the water soak into his hair. But Jacques was right; he had loathed Ardenson from the first day that he had met him. He had been visiting a then 17 year old Rose in New York when he was introduced to her music professor. Even then, he had considered Ardenson to be a lecherous old man with inappropriate designs on a young woman of beauty and breeding who was nearly half of his age.

It pained him horribly to acknowledge that Rose, the woman who he adored, was in love with such a monster and that he was forced to watch as she repeatedly went to extreme lengths to keep his memory alive.

But the pain was not enough to stop him from financing each of her projects, for each time she completed one of the productions, she became more of the person she had been before she had lost her heart to Ardenson.

After he was pronounced dead, Rose had sunk into a depression that had lasted for weeks during which she refused all visitors, even himself. The only thing which had aroused her from her apathy was the arrival of Ardenson's personal effects which had included his unfinished opera.

What she did not know was that the only reason why she had received anything other than the telegram was solely due to William's efforts on her behalf. Upon hearing about the death of her fiancé, he had rushed to her side only to be sent away after she sealed herself up hermetically in her tiny room in a lower-class boarding house in New York. Anxious to help her, he had taken it upon himself to travel from New York to the unmapped country of Montana where, using multiple monetary bribes, he was able to locate the remnants of the regiment in which Ardenson had been a soldier.

He had cringed at the fate that had befallen his rival when he learned that not a soldier had survived the massacre. Upon hearing that the soldiers' remains had been mutilated by the natives due to their religious beliefs, he had been disheartened by this turn of events; he had sorely wished to be able to return to Rose the body of her beloved, but he dared not given the state of the corpse.

Instead, he had found Rose's salvation in a wounded man in the camp by the name of Gregory Simmons. Simmons had ridden as a scout along with Ardenson and Custer's Indian scouts, but instead of death, had been captured and brutally tortured by the savages. He had been rescued by Reno's men when they regrouped their forces and was still recovering when William came to him seeking any information regarding the unfortunate Enoch Ardenson.

* * *

_**Three years prior...**_

William walked into the sweltering hospital tent where several men writhed on their pallets in agony as flies and mosquitoes swarmed about them. He looked around for one of the men who seemed calmer than the rest and asked him about a Lt. Enoch Ardenson. The corporal had rolled his eyes at the request and motioned with his free arm, his other being held in a sling, towards a bed at the end of the tent. William had gone to the bed and saw a man lying there with bandages covering most of his body. The man was staring at pieces of a broken mirror on the floor when he caught the reflection of the British nobleman behind him and swiftly turned his bandaged head to face him.

"What do you want? The man rasped through his bandages. His voice, though muffled by the bandages, was sloppy and inarticulate as though he were missing parts of his mouth. William refused to be shocked by this and forced down the feelings of disgust that had risen as he examined the broken man on the bed. "I am looking for information on a Lt. Enoch Ardenson. I was told that you might have some answers."

"Ardenson is dead. There should have been a telegram to that effect sent out weeks ago." the man slowly spoke, as if forcing himself to pronounce each word as clearly as he possibly could. William could not help but cringe when he thought of what possible injury lay behind the bandages. Pressing on for _her_ sake, he stated "There was a telegram sent to Ardenson's fiancée. I come on her behalf."

At this, the man's black eyes widened behind the bandages and he forced himself to sit up against the pillow of his hospital bed. "What about her?" he asked in the same slow, painful voice. "Is she well? Is she alright?"

William looked away briefly from the soldier, fighting the instinctual impulse to answer that 'all was well in the world' that he normally fed to people in every situation. Meeting the eyes of the other man, he sadly admitted "She has shut herself away from society. Nothing and no one can comfort her. She has been in mourning ever since the telegram arrived and refuses to see anyone, even an old family friend such as myself. I am quite worried about her health; she is not herself."

Concern flashed across the eyes of the soldier and he looked at William as if about to say something. As he lifted a mutilated hand to his forehead to wipe away perspiration, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the motion and stared at the bandaged appendage as if he had just noticed it for the first time. His gaze fell to the pieces of broken glass on the ground and William could've sworn that he saw the man blink away tears. Softly and slowly, the soldier muttered "Why are you here then, and not with her? This is your chance to have her, Harrington."

William had started quite sharply at this acknowledgement of recognition and it showed in his face. The soldier took note of this and shrugged his shoulders, a brief flash of pain flittering across his eyes when he made the movement. Taking a breath, he continued. "I know all about you, Harrington. He…he told me all about you and about his fiancée. He loved her very dearly, you know."

"I imagine that he did." William replied sharply.

"And you love her too, or else you never would have come. What did you hope to achieve by coming here? Did she ask you to come? Did she send you?"

William stiffened, uncomfortable with the direction of conversation. "She is unaware of my actions. I had hoped to bring his remains home so that she might take some comfort in putting him to rest and be able to move on with her life."

"With you at her side, I imagine..."

William's eyes flashed with anger. "How dare you..."

"I did not mean to insult you." The soldier interrupted as quickly as his broken mouth would permit. "But you love her. You love her as he did. You would take her as a bride, as your wife?"

"I hardly see where this is any concern of yours."

"I…I am close to h…him. I was close to Ardenson. I…I know that he loved her. He would not want her to be alone. I know that he would...he would want this. He would thank you for watching over her. You know that you cannot take his remains to her now. You mustn't let her see..." he gestured with one of his mutilated hands towards the battlefield.

"I'm well aware of that. Is there anything that I might take to her to comfort her? His personal items, perhaps?"

"He didn't ever have much to offer her, only his love and his music." The man looked away from the baron and shook his head sadly, his few free fingers twisting the thin blanket. Suddenly, as though heartened by a thought, he faced the baron and whispered to him "Can I trust you to take something to her? He always spoke of her, how he loved her so..."

"You can rest assured that whatever you give me will find its way into her hands."

"Bring me that knapsack at the foot of my bed. I'd get it myself but..." he gestured to his bandaged leg. After being handed the sack, the soldier fumbled with the knot as his hands were deprived of their thumbs and forefingers. William lent over, tugged at the knot and pulled it loose so that the man could rummage through the contents of the sack with lesser difficulty. After two tries, the man secured a large, leather bound stack of pages in his hands and offered it to the baron, his eyes shining with emotion.

"This is his opera. He had been working on it for years and it was meant to showcase her voice. It was to be a gift to her. Please take this to her." The man looked away from the baron, blinking at the sudden moisture in his eyes.

William saw this and dismissed it as a result of the heat; sweat was pouring steadily into his eyes as well and he couldn't even imagine how the man could bear to be stifled behind his thick bandages.

"This was to be their future. It belongs to her now. Please…tell her...tell her that he never would've forgotten her. Tell her that he loved her..."

* * *

_'Tell her that he loved her..._'

William was forced to admit that perhaps the damn bastard had truly loved her. It was undeniable that she had loved him and still did.

While William would've preferred that Rose had loved him first, rather than his rival, he knew that he would be blessed to win even a small part of her heart. He refused to have her gratitude, there was to be no sense of obligation in their relationship. Thus, he arranged that the effects be returned to Rose by a soldier the day before he announced his arrival in New York as if he were merely returning from a brief summer vacation away from the heat of the city.

The effects contained almost every item in the knapsack that Simmons had kept at the foot of his bed; William had decided that some of Ardenson's belongings, like his carving knife and leather tool kit, would do Rose no good. He had silently concluded that the unfortunate Simmons would profit by keeping them instead; they would fetch a decent price at the very least and might possibly help the broken man on his return to his kinfolk.

The opera was the largest of the things to be returned, but also enclosed were a few well-read letters and a pearl brooch which had been purchased by Ardenson as a bridal gift. William knew that Rose had worn that brooch every day since and even three years later continued to adorn herself only with pearls.

Slowly, Rose had regained part of herself with each performance of Ardenson's opera. She even ventured into society with William at her side and attended small dinner parties and dances. He sorely missed the days when she would be comfortable in attending and performing at a ball, she had often done so at the gatherings she had attended in New York and in London. But with each run of "Czarina Catrina", she gained more of her soul and more of her spirit. Her embraces now held more than just friendship; they now held the promises of love. _'She can learn to love me' _he thought to himself. _'If only I continue to assist her in her dreams, I will reap the rewards. She will love me in time...'_

He truly hoped that this performance in the city that Ardenson had longed to conquer would be enough to completely win her heart. He had done everything to ensure its success and hopefully, the Parisians would be enthralled enough by the tragic story to make it the legend that Rose hoped it would be. _'Perhaps this time, it will be enough to win her love.'_

The water had grown cold during his musings and he stepped out of the tub and onto the cold tiles. _'I shall go to her today to give her my support...surely she shall appreciate that...'_

Grabbing his robe, he walked out the door and to his chambers, ignoring the pains of the glass shards in his feet. The pains of his heart cut him sharper and more painfully than any glass shard ever could.


	7. Chapter Six

_Author's Note: Salut to all...here you shall find the much awaited Rose vs. Poligny boxing match. But before you hop into that, just remember how truly poor I am...American Express and Capital One just arrived along with my Citibank statement and I am once again forced to realize exactly how little money I have. Needless to say, I don't need a lawsuit about taking claim to Erik, Christine, the Palais Garnier (imagine _that_ heating/electric bill!), or just about anything else that you'd recognize._

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Six**_

The temperature in the auditorium seemed to drop suddenly as all heads turned to watch the confrontation between the opera manager and the visiting artist. Poligny downed his glass of brandy as Rose walked toward him, her skirts billowing out as she approached. With her eyes glowing with a strange intensity and her face set in its stone-like expression, she resembled a statute of a vengeful Greek goddess brought to life.

Cusset moved quickly and filled the brandy glass again. Taking another gulp at his brandy, Poligny launched into his argument. "How dare you go around here doing as you will without asking my permission? I am the manager here! I am in charge! You will answer to me!"

Rose stood perfectly still in front of him, her green eyes burning into his with a fierce intensity. She seemed to tower over him although she was only an inch taller than he. She scarcely seemed to be breathing, but all he was aware of were her green eyes, glowing in the darkness of the amphitheater.

Gulping at his brandy for courage he started yelling again, although unconsciously he had begun to back up to put more distance between himself and her.

"You do not have authority here and you will have respect for the opera's directors!"

She took a step toward him, closing the distance between them to be only a few feet. He stumbled as he backed into the wall.

"You ignorant mistress of a patron! You are a patron's whore! You have no right to insult me or my staff. You will obey by the rules of this opera house!"

"Are you quite finished, Monsieur Poligny?" Rose whispered in a dangerous tone. She had moved so close that he could feel her slight breath in his face as she voiced her question.

He went to gulp at his brandy, but her hand shot out and forced his wrist against the wall. She took the brandy with her free hand and downed the nearly full glass in one swallow. She then leant into Poligny's face so that her small nose was nearly pressed against his red, bulbous one.

"Now, you will listen to me, monsieur. I believe that we had an agreement contracted at the beginning of this rehearsal. I have kept up my end of the bargain. Let me state that it is in your best interests to do the same."

She looked to the now empty glass in her hand and turned it round as though to admire how the lights of the amphitheater reflected in the crystal.

"This glass is a beautiful item, is it not, monsieur?"

"Why yes..." Poligny stuttered, his wrist still held firmly against the wall by her iron grip.

"Waterford, I suppose?"

"Of course, mademoiselle..."

She leaned in very close to his face, her green eyes boring into his as she rotated the glass in her hands. "Keep this in mind, Poligny. Some things can be beautiful and fragile, such as this crystal. But you would be wise to also beware, for in such items lies the potential to make the most formidable of weapons..."

With those words, her hand closed like a vice around the crystal. She opened her palm to display the broken shards of glass, some very long and very menacing.

"Such things can be a danger, can they not? I would not wish to make an enemy of one of these...but they too can be very pretty, if you don't mind the risk." She moved her hand to catch the light and shone it in Poligny's white face. The movement resulted in her being cut by the glass and a line of blood welled up in her palm.

"It should be obvious that I do not mind the risks; I have nothing left to lose. So, the real question is, do you?"

Poligny fainted and fell into a heap of drunken flesh at her feet.

* * *

Rose's skirts rustled as she briskly walked back to her dressing room. She reached her door at the end of the hallway slammed it shut behind her when she entered the room. Locking it, she strode over to the small bureau and with shaking hands opened the locked drawer that contained her most treasured possessions. She took out her favorite photograph of her late fiancé and lovingly stroked his cheek with her bandaged hand before bursting into heart wrenching sobs.

The gala was to take place the next evening and while it would bring her a great sense of satisfaction to have succeeded in bringing the opera to Paris, it also reminded her of the duty that she owed to herself and the other man who she loved.

William had always been there for her, first as a cousin and later as a friend. Her father was a poor man with a noble title but had orphaned her when she was six; her mother had died in childbirth. William, the son of a friend to her father, had taken pity on her plight and brought her to his distant family living in New York so that she might be properly raised and not forced to share the unfortunate fate of orphans in the 1800's. He had been eighteen at the time and while he was often occupied with the issues of adulthood, he had always made time for visits to his 'cousin'.

His maiden aunt had taken Rose in and raised her as her own, sparing no expense for her education in all subjects ranging from etiquette lessons to ancient Greek and Latin. It had been William's uncle, the stir-crazy bachelor nobleman, who had arranged for her to have lessons in advanced mathematics and science as he believed that one could never have too much of an education. She had been an enthusiastic and brilliant student in almost every subject she tried her hand at and, assuming that without dowry that she would never marry, began to take steps to establish a name for herself, albeit under a male pseudonym.

William himself was inadvertently responsible for the commencement of her music lessons with Enoch Ardenson; he had commented on the need of such instruction in 'refined' society and so his aunt made inquiries and Enoch Ardenson made his advent into her life.

* * *

_Ten years prior..._

A fifteen year old Rose was absolutely furious with her adoptive aunt. The woman had the audacity to cancel Rose's mathematics lessons for one of the three afternoons each week for some so-called music instructions.

"The finest ladies take music lessons so you must do the same. I've hired a professor for you and he will arrive before tea this afternoon." her aunt had harped at her.

"But Aunt Elizabeth, why on earth do I need lessons? I can play the piano forte and the violin already."

"You need to be well educated in the arts as well as the sciences. Especially as a woman! Trust me, you will benefit much more from one day of music instruction than from another of calculus. You spend far too much time over those figures than that which is healthy."

"I _like_ those figures, Aunt. Why on earth didn't you let me know before today? I was looking forward to lessons this afternoon!"

"You would've wheedled your way out of the lesson. So I caught you by surprise and as your instructor will be here within the hour, I suggest you go and get your things ready in the instrument room."

Reluctantly, Rose obeyed. When the bell rang and she heard the heavy footsteps in the other room, she steeled herself for the inevitable meeting. She would be his student, but she would be cold and unreceptive to him.

"Professor Ardenson, I'd like you to meet your student. Rose? Are you in here?"

Rose stood from her seat in the shadows of the music room and turned towards them, giving her a full view of her new professor.

He was not handsome at all, she remembered thinking. His nose was the most striking feature, so large that it dominated his entire face. His hair was lank and pulled back at the nape in an unattractive style and as for facial hair, he lacked the mustache that would've hidden his uneven lips. He stood before her in a poor, patched suit and while she rarely concerned herself with clothing, given her situation as an orphan living on charity, she thought that he could've at least made an effort to make himself presentable to her aunt on the first day of their lessons.

After brief introductions, her aunt had left them so that they might begin the lesson. Ardenson had asked several questions of her regarding her experience and she had answered them all with the quickest of replies. She answered truthfully, telling him that she had never had formal instructions on the piano. She never had taken lessons before, but she had been taught a few tricks by her uncle and had painstakingly taught herself the exercises for nearly ten years.

He began to instruct her on simple scales on the piano and she sat through his exercises, showing indifference to his comments and recommendations. At the end of the lesson, he stood and while straightening his jacket and collecting his belongings, he coldly remarked to her "I was told by your aunt that you would be reluctant to study because these lessons were taking you away from your hobbies. While I am sorry to deprive you of your precious time, it would make the situation much easier for the both of us if you were to devote some of your attention to the lesson at hand and behave as a young woman instead of a child."

He would've walked out the door to the music room then but Rose had slammed her hands down on the ivory keys. He turned to rebuke her for her behavior but she had rushed into an extremely quick version of Mozart's 'Rondo al Turca'. Her hands flew over the keys at an alarmingly fast rate and not a sour note was to be found in her playing. She cut off in the middle of the piece and switched to a Vivaldi harpsichord concerto which she also played quickly and accurately.

From Vivaldi to Bach and then to Beethoven, she played them perfectly as her instructor's face registered a fair amount of shock. She then launched into the scales which they had struggled over for the past hour and finished with a graceful arpeggio on the last scale that they had practiced.

She looked at him with her green eyes and her face set in its stone-like expression. He walked back to her and stood glaring over his large beak-like nose. "You had stated that you had never had instruction before on this instrument."

"I do not lie, Professor."

"You play very well for a beginner. I must commend myself for your amazing progress in only an hour's lesson." He stated sarcastically.

"Yes, I suppose it seems a remarkable feat for such an instructor of your caliber."

He bristled at that and walked toward the door. He stopped just before leaving and with his back still turned to her, asked "Dare I ask exactly what hobby I have kept you from to warrant this treatment?"

"It was not a 'hobby'. It was my lesson in differential mathematics which, I confess, is much more interesting to me than a series of old scales which I mastered years ago."

He kept his shock hidden from her and walked out of the room.

* * *

The next lessons were not much improved. They were at each other's throats for nearly two months. Her aunt, who had been more than happy to sacrifice another of Rose's mathematics lessons for one she felt was much more important for a young lady of breeding, had dismissed the calculus instructor for the usual Monday lesson for another music lesson.

When he was let into the house, Enoch had met the small mathematics instructor who had just been informed that his services were only required on Fridays. He had been frustrated by this; he was now going to have to deal with a temperamental child who hated his lessons enough once a week.

The aunt was called away suddenly on servant business and the two men stood there awkwardly staring at each other until the mathematics professor said in a low voice "She is a brilliant student, sir. Her playing is much improved since she began working with you."

"How would you know, sir? She never plays except at the lessons."

"She's in their playing right now, who else would it be?" The soft sound of a piano in the back room was barely audible. "She told me that she would enjoy your lessons if only she had not had to sacrifice her others for the sake of them. She doesn't know that I've been dismissed for Mondays as well now; please let her know that I am sorry for that and that I'm sorry that I will not be able to continue to see to her lessons."

"What? Why are you not able to teach her?"

"When I was engaged for two lessons a week, it was very difficult to make ends meet but I kept her on as she was such a brilliant student and enjoyed the lessons so. But there is no way I can afford to tutor her for only one session a week; I must seek another position elsewhere. Tell her that I am sorry and wish her the best."

The small man saw himself out of the house and left Enoch standing in the hallway in quite a state; he thought himself the last person that should tell Rose that his lessons had cost her her favorite subject and professor. He entered the music room silently where Rose was already at the piano. She was unaware of his presence and played through a piece with emotions that he had never heard before in her playing. She hummed along with the piece and was so completely involved in the music that she never noticed her music professor walking closer to her to stand over her shoulder as she played.

He had told her years later that this was the first of many times that he had been struck by her beauty. He watched her play and was overwhelmed by the beauty of her serene expression as she took pleasure from the music that welled from under her fingertips. He looked over to the table near the piano and saw a huge pile of mathematics books and sheaves of paper filled with equations and realized exactly how much she looked forward to her lessons. 'If only she could put half as much effort into our lessons...' he thought.

She had begun to sing along with the piece and he was immediately struck by her voice. While her playing was truly phenomenal especially for one of her age, her voice was coarse and untrained. He had not anticipated that she would not be as competent vocally as she was instrumentally and was shocked that she could not even match the pitches of the notes she was playing with perfect accuracy.

He suddenly came up with an idea, one that would benefit both her and him. By speaking to the aunt, he would secure her her lessons with the math professor before tea and, if permissible, would hold his lessons later in the afternoon so that she would not have to sacrifice either subject. He would abandon his instruction on the piano, she did not need it. Instead, he would train her voice and would be able to test his abilities as a professor.

He outlined this plan to her after interrupting her sonata. She had been furious by her aunt's actions at first, but her common sense had prevailed and she complied with his plan. They were successful in their endeavors and so Rose's tutoring schedule now accommodated both science and art in a happy balance.

The fact that he had aided her in saving her favorite lessons garnered some respect for Enoch in Rose's eyes and she actually worked during and after their music lessons so that her progress was staggering. The music lessons came to be an enjoyable part of the week and the two musicians worked side by side to improve Rose's vocal abilities and her abilities as a musical accompanist. In three years, the two were writing music together and regarded each other as colleagues instead of being in a strict teacher-student relationship.

Enoch took great pride in her voice because as he felt that he had shaped it with his own hands. Rose always agreed with him on this point for before his lessons, she had considered her mezzo-soprano voice to be weak and unbeautiful. He had begun his opera 'Czarina Catrina' at that point in their acquaintance and had written the title role's arias with Rose's voice in mind.

It was when she was nineteen that they made the step from colleagues to lovers. Neither of them could remember who had initiated it, but their first kiss in the music room had shocked both of them so badly that they had even talked about quitting the lessons altogether when they met again later that week. However, when Rose had announced with her unfeminine frankness "It did not bother me, did it you?" Enoch was unable to lie to her and responded in kind.

Their relationship was kept secret for a year after their first kiss as not many people would have respect for the love that the thirty-three year old professor had for his young and beautiful protégée. However, when Rose turned twenty, both her adoptive aunt and uncle took ill and died of influenza. Penniless, she moved from their beautiful home to a small room in a less-respectable area of town and took a job as a accompanist for the daughters of the rich when they gave their talent-less recitals. She published some of her scientific work through the local colleges but despite her extensive education, there was no work to be found for her in academia as she was a woman. Enoch was too poor to support himself and a wife and in order to secure a steady source of income, he reenlisted himself in the United States Army; as a young man, he had fought on the Union side in the Civil War and his expertise in military procedures was much in demand for the Western Expansion. He had left her with a kiss and a promise that, upon his return in three years, he would marry her and settle down to start their family.

From her few pieces of jewelry, she had crafted a simple gold locket for him and inside had drawn two very lifelike line portraits of both herself and him. She had given it to him at the train depot where she had last seen his dark eyes alive with love for her as he stroked the line of her chin with his thumb for what would be the last time.

William had come from England to New York when the news of his relatives' deaths reached London. At first, he could find no trace of his lovely cousin but after an extensive search, he saw her for the first time in three years while she performed on the organ for a wedding ceremony in a small church in the slums of the city. Again filled with pity for her circumstances, he took it upon himself to introduce her to society as his distant cousin, the Lady Rose O'Connor. She attended many balls and galas with him as his guest and soon became a favorite of New York society. Her musical talents secured her a place in the hearts of society's finest and for a brief while, she was happy even with Enoch away from her side.

It was during that time that William was forced to acknowledge that his feelings of friendship had matured into a passionate love for the young woman. On her twenty-first birthday, he had gone completely against his confirmed 'bacheloristic' beliefs and proposed to her. He was completely taken aback when she replied that she was already promised to her old music instructor.

William had conducted himself as a gentleman and never again made unwanted advances, but Rose knew that his feelings for her had never changed from that day so long ago. She knew that he resented Enoch's inability to support her and had never approved of the match due to the significant difference in ages; Enoch was fourteen years older than she. She had always found that argument of William's quite funny for he considered himself to be a suitable match with twelve years difference between himself and her.

Even with the brief awkwardness after his proposal, she was still happy. Her career as a musician gained momentum and she was requested to play at nearly every society event she attended. Her scientific work was also well-accepted, though she suspected intervention from William on her behalf.

In June of 1876 Enoch had written a letter to her, stating that he was acting as a scout for the Yankee army and that because of this risky post, he would be able to return to her a year early. He had sent a gift, a fine wedding gown made of satin and laces from one of the finest dress makers in St. Louis. She had been ecstatic and looked forward to the future with blind optimism.

Her good fortune was not to last for long.

Later that month, the Battle of Little Big Horn took place with horrific results and the news of Custer's defeat spread across the country like wildfire. She had prayed that Enoch had ridden with Reno's men on that day but her hope was misplaced; the telegram stating his death was delivered to her while she played at a society luncheon. For the first time in her life, she fainted dead away to the dismay of the society ladies.

William had come almost immediately to her side once the news of her fainting at the luncheon reached him in Boston. She could not face him in her grief and was surprised when he left without comment and did not make another appearance for over two weeks after that. Enoch's opera had been returned to her only the day before and when he arrived and took her in his arms, she relished in the comfort conveyed by those caresses.

William provided everything for her that she could ever need and, once she had finished the opera, had used his influence to get it performed in several major cities in the world. The reviews were full of praise for both the music as well as her performances, for she had taken the title role of the Czarina and, remembering her lessons with Enoch, had stunned the world with her mezzo-soprano voice. She could sing many pieces well, but never before had stages heard a vocalist so entrancing and commanding as she in the role created especially for her.

William had been her lifeline and it was a lie to say that she did not love him. She loved him dearly, although not in the same way that she had loved her lost fiancé. She knew that he still adored her; why else would he follow her around Europe and assisting her in every endeavor? She knew that he still wanted her as a wife; that he would do anything to have her at his side. It would be unfair to both of them should she refuse to acknowledge her feelings and she knew that if Enoch were alive, he'd be berating her for her behavior. It had been several months ago at the closing performance in Milan that she had vowed to herself to accept William as a husband after her one last goal; the conquering of the Paris Opera.

* * *

A knock on the door roused her from her musings. She quickly wiped away her tears and opened the door to William who took her in his arms upon seeing her stained cheeks.

"You needn't fret, my dear...there's no use in letting him upset you so..." he murmured in her ear.

She didn't know if he meant Enoch or the confrontation with Poligny; he was certain to have heard about it upon entering the Opera. Regardless, she nodded and slowly placed her arms around him so that she now held him fast to her. She looked over his shoulder to the large mirror on the wall and saw the two of them reflected together in their embrace.

She could be happy here in his arms...but then she looked over to the wardrobe by the mirror. Hanging there was her costume for the following night, Czarina Catrina's robes in their regal splendor. She swallowed uncomfortably, bothered by the fingers of guilt that grabbed onto her heart. She settled further into the embrace, hoping to seek respite from the feelings of betrayal and unfaithfulness that tore at her chest.

_A/N: Well, this was pretty long too...I didn't anticipate this chapter being this involved at all! Regardless, here it is and I hope that you don't hate me too much for the lack of plot development. As I've said before in other chapters, I'm trying to get the stage fully set so that when I rush ahead in upcoming chapters, everyone knows where these things are coming from. Honestly, when I outlined this story, I had expected to be well into the final stages of the tragedy by this point and you can imagine my surprise that I've yet to even begin it!_

_I find it rather amusing that everyone wanted to see Rose and Poligny 'deck it out'... I had never intended to have them go head to head, William was originally going to do it for me. I hope that it lived up to your expectations...I kinda liked the Waterford crystal though; like our heroine, it's even of Irish make._

_Next chapter will have plot development. I promise you! It's just that I wanted to get everything set up for things to come._

_Olethros, I had replied immediately to your review by posting an anonymous review of my own. Don't take me so literally! :-D I don't believe that I've given too much away about the character to be killed off, but when I wrote the response I did briefly consider putting him/her instead of the 'him' that you noticed. However, I hate the him/her plus it takes too much time for me to move my fingers down to type the '/'. I'm very lazy and do not type well. But honestly, I don't think I've given too much away so I hope you enjoy the story! Thanks again so much for your review!_

_Nne, I still love your name although I always shorten it! Thanks for the birthday wishes, you were one week late in wishing them but that is significantly better than my family who completely forgot to do so. Don't you dare shoot yourself, I want no bloody splatters on my fanfiction! I hope that you enjoy the story, even though there is not much plot development in this chapter. _

_Lil Shady, I thank you for your reviews! I had looked into your profile only to find that you write much about Dragonball and sadly, I have no idea what Dragonball is. Thank you for the compliments regarding this story, it's nice to know that somebody thinks it well written (I'm getting much criticism from my friends to the contrary). You must also be one of the few Phantom phans I've met who has not read Susan Kay; you must have an interesting perspective when reading the fiction on this site as much of it is considers the Kay version as canon with little regard to Leroux's original work. I'd recommend reading it when you have a chance; it is by far the best fanfiction I've read on this topic. I've also read Night Magic, The Canary Trainer, Angel and the Opera, Phantom of Manhattan, and many other well known pieces and the Kay version is, by a long shot, the absolute best. _

_In regards to the 'unhappy ending', I suppose I shouldn't have given it away by labeling this a tragedy. But one thing I am hoping to do is to leave a certain phantom with a sense of hope at the end of the story...hopefully, there'll be enough hope to get him through the crap with good ol' Christine...I also think that's a record for me for the number of times I've ever used the word 'hope' in a sentence; I'm a confirmed pessimist and have even written a little song about it!_

_AuronLives, thanks for your review! Yes, Erik is o/c and I did admit to it...he's by far the hardest character to write for in this piece. It would be so nice and easy to just ignore him altogether (hence his lack of performance in the last two chapters) but I suspect that not too many people would like me to leave the Phantom of the Opera out of the Patron of the Opera! _


	8. Chapter Seven

_Author's Note: Salut everyone! Just a very quick reminder about the fact that I am poor...very poor...so poor that even if I sold myself on the slave market, I still would not be able to get enough money to make my banks happy. And so, I suppose it goes without saying that I don't own Erik and Co. If I did, I suspect that my finances would be in better order, especially considering the upcoming movie!_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Seven**_

The night of the gala had arrived. Everybody at the opera was bustling about in order to finalize the last minute details of the performance. The vocalists were given extensive warm-ups so that they would be ready for the swift changes in the music styles, the dancers stretched themselves to their limits so that they would be lithe and limber during the dancing sequences, the orchestra musicians could be heard practicing various parts of the different operas so that each passage would be played to perfection. Previews of all of the operas to be performed this season had been painstakingly arranged and it was well known that Aida, opening again this season, was among one of the most anticipated performances in all of Europe. The fact that Czarina Catrina was written by an American did nothing to help its reputation, but the rumors regarding the unknown composer and the mystery surrounding the performer in the title role were enough to secure the opera a special place in the hearts of the Parisian aristocracy.

Carlotta's costume changes had determined the order of the pieces to be performed. She had a very difficult time changing from her Egyptian garb for Aida into the dress for Marguerite in Faust and then into the gown of the Queen of the Night. When all things were finally arranged, The Magic Flute would be performed first, followed by selections of Faust and then by the intermission. Don Giovanni, also by Mozart, would be played and followed by the excerpts from Czarina Catrina and finally by the triumphant march from Aida with solos from the title role, Radames, and Amneris.

Rose had said nothing regarding the order of performances and did not employ the hairdressers and makeup artists in the preparation of her character. Ever since her confrontation with Poligny, she had been indifferent to the final arrangements of the gala. It was well known that William had also had words with Poligny regarding the incident and it was deemed best by most in the company to tread carefully over the broken ties between manager and producer.

Unlike most of the other performers, Rose intended to remain offstage until the opening bars of her aria. As the rest of the company bustled about, she sat calmly in her dressing room at the end of the corridor and read the reviews in the city's society columns.

* * *

A column in the Publication de la Societie des Beaux Arts

October 1880

It is with great excitement that the Opera Populaire premieres this year's gala performance for the upcoming operatic season! For months, the fine artists of the National Academy have been preparing for this night of tragedy, comedy, and above all, beauty. Selections from all of the operatic works to be given this season will be performed in this one splendid evening. Scenes from Aida, the most anticipated opera to be performed in Europe this year, will be performed by the great diva, La Carlotta, and the dashing tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. Accompanying these two great operatic stars will be the chorus and orchestra of the Academie National de Musique.

Gounod's Faust, a Parisian favorite, will also be featured by tenor Jean-Paul Foch and again by our prima donna, La Carlotta.

Mozart's comical masterpiece, La Flute Enchantée, is also to have selections performed by the handsome singer, Ubaldo Piangi, and by the greatest soprano of our time, La Carlotta.

Another Mozart masterpiece, Don Giovanni, will be featuring the robust tenor, Ubaldo Piangi and La Carlotta, the most lyrical vocalist on the globe.

There will also be a brief premiere of a new American opera, Czarina Catrina, which received shockingly good reviews by the critics of London and Milan, especially considering that it is an American opera. Pieces to be performed will be two choral selections from the second act of the opera which will have the pride of Spain, La Carlotta, also performing a major role in these choruses.

A selection of the Column Pour les Arts

October 1880

Apparently, the new managing staff at the Populaire hopes to attract more business by performing obscure operas from obscure composers. While they intend to host such masterpieces such as Faust and Aida, there will be a brief premiere of the American opera, Czarina Catrina, in between the runs of Gounod and Verdi's musical masterpieces.

While this is shocking in itself, it is even more shocking that none of the traditional leading performers will have a central role in this opera, thanks to the direction of an ill-bred Irishwoman by the name of Rose O'Connor. While some of the artists took great offense to their demotions, prima donna La Carlotta took the news with good humor and is quoted to have said "At least I can then focus on my real projects instead of this piece of American trash. I wouldn't want my public to suffer in later performances due to the absurd wishes of an Irish washerwoman."

A selection of the Column des Lettres Bavardages

Well, apparently scandals do sell tickets! Even before the gala performance, the Opera Populaire is completely sold out excepting, of course, the usual Box Five seat. While performances of Faust and Aida are most anticipated, it is the unknown opera Czarina Catrina that has patrons chattering. While London and Milan did give the opera stunning reviews, can leading lady Rose O'Connor expect such a warm reception from the Parisians?

We expect not.

In my opinion, humble readers, it is only the scandal behind Lady O'Connor's calm facade that is selling the tickets. It is well known that she was involved with the composer, who still remains an unknown to this day, and later became a very close traveling companion to Baron William Harrington, of London. Why Baron Harrington prefers to have the sloppy seconds of a poor, illiterate musician we may never know. But as it seems that the Baron and Lady O'Connor have been involved in a very chaste and proper relationship, nobody really cares as to her activities and needless to say, nobody will be buying tickets once the drama has passed since there is nothing to see. Now perhaps if there were rumors of a love-child...

* * *

Rose found the articles quite amusing despite the several insults to her and her music; it wasn't as if it were the first time something of this nature had been printed. The first time she was insulted, William had been furious and threatened the journalist to a duel. It had taken a great deal of persuasion on Rose's behalf to let things alone. William had been angry, but after listening to Rose's words of concern he had learned to be just as dismissive with articles written in gossip columns. 

Rose had styled her hair in a very elaborate braid as it would have to bear the weight of her headdress and blonde wig without coming undone; as a tribute to Enoch's mother, Czarina Catrina was always played as a blonde. The makeup was simple, the usual greasepaint to give color to her cheeks and extra emphasis was placed on and around her lips to keep them shining throughout her arias. She had just stood to dress in her robes, an elaborate mix of rich green and gold velvets and satins, when there was a frantic pounding on the door of her dressing room.

She opened the door to an ashen-faced Mme. Giry who held three different costumes in her arms. "Mathilde is sick, she will not be able to perform tonight and we haven't another mezzo-soprano who can do this." she said as she thrust the costumes into Rose's shocked arms.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Rose asked as Mme. Giry forced her way into the room along with one of the costume mistresses.

"Mathilde was supposed to play Siebel and Amneris in tonight's performances. She was also going to be one of ladies in the Don Giovanni, but we found a suitable substitute. But there are no mezzo-sopranos to be spared for the Faust and Aida parts and you were recommended."

"Recommended by whom? I've only studied those parts years ago; I'm not qualified to perform them!"

"One of the patrons recommended you." Mme. Giry said as she helped Rose into the trousers for the role of Siebel. "And if he recommended you, then you will certainly be good enough in the role."

"Why don't you tell her that it was the Ghost, Antoinette? It isn't like it's something to be ashamed of!" the costume mistress stated as she fastened Siebel's wig over Rose's braids.

"Hush, Clothilde!" Mme. Giry reprimanded. "Well, if he said she'd do then she'll do. You know that sometimes that spirit has good sense in him!" the costume mistress argued.

"Clothilde!"

"Well he does!"

"Clothilde, if he hears you..."

"And I don't care if he hears any of this! If he was within hearing range, then he'd know that I am nowhere near prepared enough to perform either of these roles!" Rose shouted over the two warring women. "I refuse to perform these roles and sacrifice the main reason why I am here!"

"They've changed the sequence of the performances to fit that in. We'll do the Faust first and then the Mozarts. Then they'll do Aida and finally Czarina Catrina. You'll have the entire Triumphant March to change from costumes; he said it wouldn't be necessary for you to be in that piece since it's such a large chorus number." Mme. Giry corrected her while pushing her out the door to the stage.

Resigning herself to this, Rose just shook her head and muttered under her breath "Your ghost truly is a madman..."

* * *

Erik was comfortably seated in his column in Box Five awaiting the curtain call; it wasn't safe for him to openly sit in the box until the amphitheater had been darkened. He hoped that Rose would not give anyone too much trouble regarding the last minute changes in her performances; he really had no choice but to recommend her for the parts as she was easily the best mezzo-soprano available at the time. Hopefully, her musical knowledge extended to these roles as well. At any rate, it was bound to be an interesting performance. 

William had taken a clue from Poligny and brought a bottle of brandy with him into his private box once he heard of the last minute changes to the casting. He knew that while Rose was proficient on instruments, but despite her facade of confidence she was nowhere near as comfortable with her vocal skills. He truly hoped that she would be able to perform these two other roles to the satisfaction of the Parisian elite. Should she fail in this endeavor, Czarina Catrina would never be able to conquer Paris.

The curtain rose on Carlotta dressed in her peasant Marguerite costume as she sat spinning. A flustered Siebel then entered the stage dressed in an oversized shirt and set of trousers, presented Marguerite with flowers and with a queue from the orchestra, launched into his aria, 'Si le bonheur a sourire t'invite". His pledges of love to Carlotta/Marguerite seemed genuine and heartfelt and if one was not aware of the true sex of Siebel, one would've guessed the part to have been played by a young man instead of a twenty five year old Irishwoman. Siebel made his exit and Carlotta launched into the 'Jewel Song'. Piangi then made his grand entrance with the resident Mephistopheles and the Faust selections were ended with a performance of the Soldier's Chorus.

The Magic Flute and Don Giovanni selections also continued without any major problems. Intermission was spent talking about the majesty of La Carlotta's voice and the mysterious identity of the mezzo-soprano understudy; it was common knowledge by this point that the woman making appearances was not the beloved Mathilde Guerin.

Aida was greatly anticipated and rightly so; the score was magnificent, the casting ideal, and the costumes and sets were so elaborate that it seemed as though the performance were taking place in the heart of Cairo. When Carlotta entered dressed in her exquisite Egyptian costume, the audience broke out into applause before she even began to sing. However, her performance was far from perfect as her voice nearly cracked as she ascended into her upper register. The mistake would not be noticeable to the general populace, but to the critics it would be painfully obvious. She finished her piece with as much dignity as she could muster and left the stage trying to control her tears.

Radames and Amneris then made their appearances with their arias, "Celeste Aida" and "Gia i sacerdoti adunansi", respectively. Again, Rose was successful in her role and was rewarded with the applause of Paris. She exited the stage and Piangi continued with another aria. The chords of the Triumphant March sounded and soon, the entire chorus and ballet made their entrance into the grandiose music of Verdi.

The applause was so great at the end of the performance that William downed the rest of the brandy that he had brought with him to the show. With the whistles and shouts of 'Bravi', Czarina Catrina would now just seem to be a minor encore performance rather than the musical masterpiece that it truly was. He was furious at what had happened and could only hope that Rose would be strong enough to not let it affect her performance in her title role.

The applause died down after a few minutes and some patrons had even stood to leave when Cusset ran out onto the stage and yelled out that the performance was not over and that the selections from Czarina Catrina were still to be performed. Almost reluctantly, the audience returned to their seats.

It was at this point in the performance that Erik heard fumbling at the door of his box and, unwilling to be caught, made his way back into his hiding place in the column. He had just finished fastening the locks to the hidden door when the door to his box opened and a man walked in and sat down in the seat furthest in the shadows. He was dressed in a patched, thin suit and had his head hidden by the cowl of his tattered opera cloak. There were leather gloves on his hands instead of the usual white of the rest of the other opera patrons and he wrapped his arms around himself as the curtain rose and the orchestra started the opening bars of Czarina Catrina's aria. Erik was more shocked than angry at this unknown intruder, and given the potential dangerousness of getting involved he opted to sit safely in his column until the end of the performance.

The set was simple given that it had been prepared in less than one week. It resembled a castle's courtyard with a high balcony adorned in royal colors, a bench amid the artificial rosebushes, and a wide open area to the right of the stage. Czarina Catrina made her entrance in the center of the courtyard. From the small viewing space in the wall of the column, it was apparent to Erik that he had been wrong in his estimation of the time it would take her to change her costumes for her hair was not in her blonde wig and her natural auburn fell from it's restrictive braids and down her back in a mass of curls. Rather than taking away from the regal effect, they added to it and although in disarray, she resembled every bit the lovely Czarina that she was to play.

She walked out into the center of the stage as the orchestra played the melody of her aria. She looked out over the audience and composed herself before starting into the haunting strains of her first bars.

As soon as her voice was added to the music, the entire atmosphere of the theater changed. Her voice was low and haunting, her character mourning the loss of her innocence and of her love. She sang of beauty and pain and each emotion were instilled into all present just by the sounds of her voice as it sang the simple melody.

She seemed to put all of her soul into this piece. She moved about the stage as if in a trance and poured all possible emotion into the song. Tears glistened in her eyes, her arms stretched up to the heavens and she seemed to be begging with God and his angels for their divine aid. Every emotion that she was to have felt flowed through her song to the entire audience.

The female choristers then made their way out on the stage and began their harmonies to the melody that the czarina sang. The music soared higher and higher as did the voices and the balances between the orchestra and the singers were perfect. The dancers then entered, dressed in the traditional garb of Russian peasants and began to dance amid the artificial flower garden. Rose had moved out of his view and so Erik focused his attention on the graceful movements of Meg Giry and the rather awkward ones of a pretty brunette also in the third row.

The music swelled in intensity and then with a beautifully pitched chord, it was over. The female dancers and choristers left the stage and Rose walked back to the center, her robes shining with regal splendor. She stood a moment and looked out over the audience with her head held high and her eyes flashing. It was almost amazing how she would be so emotional one moment and resemble a piece of carved stone the next. As she stood there watching the audience with her chin raised proudly, she radiated a sense of control and confidence. She then raised her arms and began to chant loudly in Russian to a very quick staccato rhythm. The orchestra slowly followed her lead and the sound grew in intensity until she screamed out a note higher than any Carlotta had hit all evening. She turned on her heel and, with robes flowing behind her, walked of the stage as other performers entered brandishing pitchforks, swords, and banners with Russian flags.

The basses were the first to join the orchestra in song and were soon followed by the baritones and tenors. The men sang their song of bloodlust and hatred as the ballerinas and female choristers came onto the stage. The women sang of their desire to protect their lands and the male members of the ballet danced in soldier's garb waving swords and other weaponry.

In the midst of this organized musical chaos, the doors to the castle opened and Piangi, dressed in the elaborate robes of a Russian czar, entered and as he walked to the front of the stage with sword raised high, sang of the desire and the need to conquer the enemies of the empire. The music quieted for a moment as the artists playing the ill-fated lovers, Svetlana and Nikolai, entered by the bench in the garden and sang of their love for each other. Their song was interrupted by the doors to the balcony swinging open and Czarina Catrina, now dressed in red with the elaborate headdress atop her auburn curls, entered and sang of her husband's betrayal of her trust and love and her thirst for revenge. The rest of the ensemble began to sing, beginning a fugue between all sections in the orchestra and chorus and the dancers twirled about, waving their arms and swords. The colorful spectacle ended with the Czar and the male choristers singing about the impending victory, the female choristers demanding a better world for their children, Svetlana and Nikolai pledging their eternal love to each other, and Czarina Catrina, positioned in the balcony high above the rest with her arms held high, vowing revenge on her husband and his allies.

For a moment, the Parisians did not know how to respond when the song ended. The silence was deafening and William wiped the sweat from his brow in an automatic gesture. Then, from the back of the auditorium, a lone man stood and started clapping. Others were slow to follow, but soon each person in the audience applauded heartily and enthusiastically. The men seated on the first floor all were giving a standing ovation and the patrons in their boxes followed the suit. Shouts of 'Bravi' echoed throughout the auditorium and some even threw flowers at the feet of the performers.

Piangi, Svetlana, and Nikolai all came forward in a bow and the curtain closed. Piangi walked out in front of the curtain along with the others who had sung leads in the performances of the evening; Rose was notably the last person in the line. Flowers were given to Carlotta and she continued to bow to the audience even as Cusset and Poligny walked out onto the stage to introduce the performers.

A movement in his box diverted Erik's attention from the stage and he looked to find the mysterious occupant standing in the shadows only a few inches from the column.

"Monsieur le Fantome, I am sorry to have troubled you." came the muffled whisper from the cloaked figure. "I merely wished to see this performance and I thank you for your discretion in allowing me to use this box." The figure stiffly bowed to the air and snuck out of the box, leaving Erik in utter shock and extremely curious as to the identity of this man.

* * *

On the way back to her dressing room, Rose was nearly assaulted by the mass of admirers and reporters that had stationed themselves in the corridors. Flowers were thrust in her direction; questions were shouted as each reporter tried to be heard over the mass exodus. She answered none and pushed her way to the door to her dressing room, where she turned around and addressed the large group. 

"I thank you for your support," she shouted and the crowd quieted down, hanging on her every word. "I will be willing to answer each of your questions, but not at the moment. Please, allow me to dress and I will meet with you in the Grand Salon in thirty minutes. Thank you." and she turned, walked into her dressing room, and locked the door.

* * *

The next morning, the papers were full of the critics' remarks on the upcoming season. Contrary to the comments of the day before, Czarina Catrina was now hailed as a modern musical masterpiece and Rose O'Connor's mezzo-soprano was praised as one of the finest instruments in all of Europe. All tickets for Czarina Catrina, excepting Box Five, were sold out by ten that morning. 

In the days following the gala, Erik noticed a different atmosphere at the opera. With the success of her opera and her performances, Rose had finally garnered the respect of both managers and that of the Parisian critics. Another odd occurrence was that at the Grand Salon interviews, Rose had interrupted a critic who was intent on ruining La Carlotta's reputation and had defended the dreadful slip during the Aida aria. Carlotta, grateful for this assistance, responded in kind by praising Rose's performances and the opera which she had formerly hated. This ended by forming a truce between the two enemies and for the following days at the opera, both treated each other with utmost respect.

The six young students of the Conservatoire were also praised for their performances and were instated as full time employees of the opera ballet; even the awkward brunette was included. All in all, the opera was finally run smoothly. People who were complemented for their efforts were more willing to work harder to ensure flawless performances and in the following weeks, the opera was performing up to its full potential as a company.

The months of November and December passed in a flurry of rehearsals and performances. And while Erik was vaguely concerned with the mysterious character of the gala night, the man never appeared again at any time in those next weeks.

_A/N: Salutations, everyone! Sorry for the lack of updates, but I've been extremely busy with work, school, research, sorority stuff, and family issues and haven't had a moment to sit down and put this one out. It's incredible, but it took me forever to write this and it was merely a description of the gala night...I cringe to think of how long it is going to take me to write later chapters!_

_AuronLives, I'm glad to see that you liked the last chapter and no, Rose is not crazy. I was basing her reaction to music lessons to mine many years ago when I started playing with my second flute teacher; she was a professional clarinet player and when it came to the flute, I was significantly better than her. Needless to say, I didn't feel the need to continue to go through nothing but the scales I'd been playing for years but unlike Rose, I kept my mouth shut and suffered through it. Of course, we got along much better when I decided to take clarinet and bass clarinet lessons from her instead. And I have read your fic and have been following it ever since it was first posted, but I am guilty of not reviewing...I barely have time to read and make it a point never to leave signed reviews since I want the writers to have the opportunity to delete it if they find them too harsh or don't like them. I will be certain to leave a review for you on the next update and to date, I really do enjoy the story and am looking forward to more. Please consider this a compliment on my part as I am not really a follower of the 'female phantom' versions; kinda brings the stories a little too 'close to home' for me and, due to a possibly sexist view on my part, I'm much happier having the males be the disfigured ones. However, your fic is very well written and I will be sure to 'buckle down' come review time!_

_Phtmangl1013, many thanks for your review! And I cannot tell you how happy I was that you caught the similarities between Rose and Carlotta! Carlotta is by far my favorite female character in Phantom and Rose was definitely created with Carlotta in mind, minus a few of her most annoying Spanish traits plus a few annoying traits of her own. _

_Lil Shady, thanks for the review and good luck on your phantom fics. I've read through a few parts of your Dragonball fics and although I have no idea of the canon, I can tell that many of your followers will most likely be disappointed at the abandoned fics. However, abandoned is usually better than half a$$-ed, so I agree with your decision not to force yourself to write them. And I'm used to not pleasing everybody but it is nice to get constructive criticism from other writers, hence why I post my stories. Dare I say that I was not really happy with this chapter, but posted it anyways since it is the best that I can put out at the moment? I confess that I am much more eager to get to later chapters, some have already been written, and I suppose that if I really wanted to, I could go back later and change this chapter to possibly meet my expectations._

_Olethros, thanks again for your support. However, your reviews have made me come to this conclusion...I should have labeled this 'romance' and never mentioned it a tragedy until the unfortunate characters were dead in their respective puddles of blood while experiencing post mortem twitches! I had figured that you would be able to realize that I wasn't trying to point out the potential characters, but I also realized that there were most likely other readers who would read your review and start shouting "William! He's gonna die!" or "Erik! He's gonna die!" or "Enoch, he's already dead but is gonna die!". I've seen it happen to writers before, and it sometimes ruins the whole story. Anyways, thank you for your reviews and your support; it is much appreciated!_

_One other note to those who may be wondering, the songs from Czarina Catrina __were inspired by many pieces of music. The slow and haunting aria first performed was based briefly off of selections from Borodin's Prince Igor. The 'Russian Sailor's Dance' from the Red Poppy was the basis of the war song, if there were vocals added to the orchestra. I was originally going to give the opera an American theme (really inspired by my time in France since I am prouder to be an American now that I've seen another side of life!) but I've a soft spot for Borodin, also a chemist as well as a brilliant musician and composer! Also, I suppose I should add that in the Phantom film with Claude Rains, they perform a 'Russian' opera which, if I am not losing my mind, is based off of Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony. I decided that if it was good enough to be done in the movies, that it might work here as well! Thank you all for your reviews!_


	9. Chapter Eight

_Author's Note: Salut to all. As stated in the nine other parts of this fic, the characters with whom you are familiar do not belong to me._

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Eight**_

Erik remained careful and alert throughout the months after the gala as he kept watch for any sign of the shadow man that had invaded his domain. As an inevitable result, he realized exactly how long Lady O'Connor worked on the preparations for her opera.

Moved with curiosity, he had watched the Irishwoman silently for the weeks after her opening performance from the mirror in her dressing room. He knew that both she and William had been besieged with offers from that management to increase the run of the production from the one week to three, leaving no break between the closing of 'Czarina Catrina' and the opening of 'Aida'. Unexpectedly, neither Rose nor William was happy with this turn of events and had argued for the terms of the original contract. Eventually they had compromised that it would run for two weeks instead of one, and so Rose had spent a great deal of time drawing up the contracts and making the arrangements for the changes.

The result of their hesitance to accept an extended run of their production caused much speculation with the patrons and employees of the opera. Rumors spread like wildfire throughout society; the patrons claimed that it was due to financial difficulties on William's behalf and critics stated that it might be due to the mediocrity of the piece even after its triumph at the gala. The costume mistress announced that it was due to Rose's failing health and the ballet rats were convinced that it was the result of Rose and William's impending nuptials.

There is often some truth to rumors and while Erik could see that there was no truth to the critics' speculations and that according to the opera's coffers, William's finances were experiencing no difficulties, the most truth laid in the theory of the costume mistress.

Rose often worked alone in her dressing room late into the night. Surrounded by the opera score, she made adjustments so that it would be performed as perfectly as possible by the French artists. Erik had watched her stay overnight in her room working for hours with an oil lamp and a bottle of wine at her side; the levels of liquid in both disappearing as the night wore until she finally fell asleep with her head on the worn manuscripts.

On other nights, she would take sips from a flask that she kept well hidden in the top drawer of her bureau; on those nights she fell asleep much faster than with the wine. By day, she maintained an active and vivacious lifestyle as she attended to the needs of artists and patrons alike. By night, she was plagued with nightmares and horrible spells of night sweats and coughing. Her health was obviously declining as she continued to work and she took great pains to hide this from William's concerned eyes.

Erik pretended not to be concerned for the woman; he did not know her and did not feel any necessity to worry himself with her problems. However, a sick feeling in his stomach prompted him to observe her; it was as though a sixth sense had made him finely tuned to the happenings in her life.

The first snowfall of the season found many Parisians out and about on the freezing December morning bustling around in their furs and wraps as they tried to obtain the best presents and trimmings for the upcoming holidays. The entire city was alive with festive cheer and the Opera Garnier was no exception. Everyone, from the great diva to the janitors, sang carols as they went about their jobs and relished in the festive atmosphere of their fellow man. Everyone, that is, except the resident Opera Ghost.

Christmas had never been Erik's favorite time of the year and he had always treated the day as he would any other. Events this year would not lead him to reevaluate his view on the holiday.

It was decided that after the final runs of Faust that a holiday concert would be held in celebration of Christmas. The annual masquerade ball would then be held a week later in honor of the New Year. The concert was an afterthought that was inspired by the desires of both Carlotta and Rose; Carlotta never passed up an opportunity for the limelight and Rose was anxious to get more publicity for 'Czarina Catrina' in the three weeks before opening night. As it had not been professionally arranged or planned by the management, the concert was hastily thrown together by all those willing to donate their time and energy. The proceeds of the concert would benefit the orphans of Paris and in response to this charitable cause, many patrons were willing to donate heavy sums to the coffers of the opera house as well.

The night chosen for this impromptu performance was December 24th and the pieces to be performed would be selected at the discretion of the M. Reyer. No formal rehearsals were held except for a very brief meeting between Rose, Carlotta, Piangi, and the bass who had played Sasastro in 'La Flute Enchantée'. Apparently, the quartet had something hidden up their sleeves for the performance and Erik had to confess that he was quite interested in the product of Rose and Carlotta's mutual efforts.

The two women had completely lost all of their former hostility for each other and regarded each other with a great deal of respect. Erik, as well as the rest of the opera company, knew how indebted Carlotta was to Rose for the silencing of the critics at the gala night. Rose's motives were much less transparent to her colleagues, but she had announced that Carlotta would be playing the role of the czarina at the opening of her opera; to Erik, it was apparent that Rose was hoping that Carlotta's name would bring more support for her opera.

The night of the concert arrived and Erik hid himself once again in the confines of Box Five. The orchestra began by performing a few mundane carols as the ballet pranced about the stage, each girl dressed in festive colors. The audience was delighted with this mundane spectacle and the mistakes of the both the dancers and orchestra went without comment from those who typically were never too slow to rip apart the slightest error in an operatic performance. Bored to tears, Erik reclined in his seat and mused about the present state of affairs.

'_Honestly, if only one composer in the world would write a Christmas ballet with passable music, he'd be immortalized by that piece forever!'_

Several soloists, both vocal and instrumental, were featured as they too continued with the tuneless songs of the season. Intermission came and went. Again, the orchestra continued to play and the audience clapped dutifully at the end of each piece.

The last movement was the only part which was in any way entertaining. Vocal selections from several carols and the Hallelujah chorus of Handel's Messiah were performed by a quartet featuring Carlotta, Piangi, Rose, and Savinov, the bass vocalist, accompanied by the orchestra of the Opera. Carlotta entered with Piangi on her arm; both were dressed in obscenely vibrant red satin garments. Carlotta wore bright red poinsettias in her unnatural red hair and Piangi wore them in the buttonhole of his tuxedo. Rose entered on the arm of Savinov; he was dressed in the standard black of the time and she wore a dark green silk gown on which she had also pinned poinsettias. In her hair, she had managed to craft a simple crown of holly and the red berries and green leaves stood out attractively from her auburn coiffure. The haunted look in her eyes that had taken hold in the prior weeks was gone and a bright twinkle had taken its place as she sang under the glow of the gas lamps of the auditorium. Where Carlotta's ensemble was painful to look at, Rose's was so simply elegant that she could be easily mistaken for one of the beautiful fabled spirits of Christmas.

They opened with a simple rendition of 'Deck the Halls' and continued through 'We Three Kings', 'I Saw Three Ships', and 'Silent Night' before Rose moved to the grand piano on the stage. She treated the audience to two simple pieces of her own composition, one a duet for bass and tenor and the other a soprano solo which featured the other vocalists. When the applause ended for the second piece, she played an elaborately scored piano solo which she had also composed. Watching her from Box Five, Erik saw how passionately she played; she appeared to be completely unaware of the audience and lost in a musical world of her own making. As the tempo decreased and the song came to an end, she came out of her trance-like state and turned to the conductor of the orchestra. She nodded to him and he signaled the brass to play an opening fanfare to Handel's 'Messiah'. As the fanfare continued, several other members of the opera chorus filed in behind the soloists, all dressed in the white robes that were used for the choir of angels in the runs of Faust. The opening notes of the piece sounded and with a nod to the conductors of both ensembles, Rose led them in a lively rendition of 'Hallelujah'.

While nowhere near as grand as the finale to 'Czarina Catrina', the chorus was still rewarded with the applause of the Parisian patrons. Bows were taken and Erik stood and moved to return to his home. However, looking out across the auditorium one last time provided him a view of a shadow, too obscure to be made out clearly, but carefully hidden in the shadows of Box Four on the second tier. He watched the shadow's movements carefully from his place across the theater and saw that its gaze was focused on the soloists taking their bows. When they rose and exited the stage, the figure turned toward Box Five for a brief moment and then disappeared into the dark shadows of the theater.

Using the passages which he had personally designed, Erik made to follow this figure, but despite his best efforts he was unable to locate the mysterious being. It was safe to say that Erik had never been more cautious on his route back to his lair for fear of discovery.

The Christmas holidays passed by in a blur and many arrangements were being made in anticipation of the opening of 'Czarina Catrina'. Erik was able to dismiss his feelings of unease and impending doom until the events of one of the late evenings following the holiday.

Two evenings after the Christmas performance, Rose opted to stay the night in order to get everything finalized for the opening night before the New Year celebrations. Erik had watched her briefly from the mirror as she drank from her flask, became disinterested with the boring events, and had gone on a short walk of his theater. On his way back to his lair, he had walked past the mirror again only to find that Rose was not in her usual place. Curiosity won over his better judgment and he began to stalk the passages of the opera in search of her.

He finally found her in the auditorium at the piano which had been used in the earlier chorus practice. She was playing Bach at the moment, but switched to Vivaldi and finally began playing one of the arias from 'Czarina Catrina'. Before tonight, Erik had never heard her play with the feelings and emotions that she put into the piece. Her performance at the concert did not accurately reflect her abilities; she was easily one of the best pianists he had ever heard. She deftly improvised the passages and moved her upper body in time with the music as her hands flew effortlessly across the ivory keys. Erik was completely entranced as he sat back in the shadows near the stage and listened as she played without pause for over an hour.

A creak echoed throughout the auditorium which roused Erik from his musings; Rose, however, kept playing without notice. His gold eyes scanned the auditorium, looking for the source of the sound. There was nothing amiss, yet Erik felt uneasy and was unwilling to move from the shadows to examine it further.

However, thoughts of discovery were quickly dispersed as Rose's hands froze on the keyboard. The sudden silence lasted only a second and was broken by the sound of violent coughing; Rose now bent over the keyboard as the coughs ripped their way from her chest. She reached over to the pile of music at her side and grasped at the small silver flask which she brought to her lips, managing to take a few sips of its contents before breaking into another fit. She stood hastily, apparently trying to get back to her dressing room. However, she only managed to get a few steps from the piano before she was overcome by dizziness and collapsed to the ground.

Erik stood immediately and would have walked over to assist her, not willing to allow the poor woman to spend the night unconscious on the ground. However, a movement from the opposite side of the stage alerted him to another's presence in the auditorium.

A shadow limped carefully and quietly out to the stage and slowly knelt down to the fallen figure. In the dim lighting of the auditorium, Erik was able to discern that the figure was attired in the same tattered opera cloak and garments that had been worn the night of the gala performance by the man who had invaded the sanctity of his box. The figure slowly and painfully gathered the fallen woman in its arms and slowly began to limp in the direction of her dressing room. It staggered right past the corner where Erik hid and spared a glance in the direction, but continued to painfully drag himself and his burden through the hallways of the opera.

Not willing to have any crimes committed in his domain if he could avoid it, Erik followed the two for he refused to allow this woman to be attended by an unknown specter. The figure had a very difficult time with the door to her room and actually had to lay her unconscious body carefully on the ground as he used both hands to turn the handle. He picked her up and laid her gently down on her chaise. Tucking a thin blanket around her, the figure stroked the line of her chin with a leather gloved hand.

Erik stationed himself behind the mirror and silently watched as the man attended to Rose's unconscious form. The man bathed her temples with scented water from her washbasin and brushed back the stray curls that had fallen into her face. But when he began to undo the buttons to her bodice, Erik found that he could contain himself no longer.

Before the fourth button had even been touched, the mirror had spun on its axis and Erik had forced the intruder up against the wall of the room.

He shook the man's shoulders violently and whispered harshly "Who in Hell's name are you?! Tell me now who you are or you will not escape from my opera alive. I will not have a woman harmed by the likes of you!"

The man visibly cringed away from the Opera Ghost's wrath before he gained as much composure as he could under the circumstances and focused his dark eyes on the blazing gimlets before him. In a small, strained voice, he replied in heavily accented French "The likes of me? I suppose that I am a loathsome creature, one that a woman like her must be protected from. But I would never harm her...I am incapable of doing so. I find that I am incapable of doing many things at the present..."

"Do **not** dodge my question! Who are you?!" Erik spat, his grip on the other man tightening by the second.

"You have no reason to threaten me, monsieur. How could I harm her when I love her? When I have loved her for years and could never possibly stop loving her?" The man whispered, his gaze returning to the woman lying on the chaise.

Banging the man's head against the wall, Erik asked sharply "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Let's just say that I knew her in another life, monsieur. Surely a ghost such as yourself is familiar with the concept of reincarnation!"

"I am not a patient man, monsieur. I demand an answer! Who are you?!"

"Nobody, sir. I am nobody. Nobody to be concerned with..."

In response, Erik grabbed the man by his collar and trapped him against the wall, snarling as his grip on the man's throat tightened.

"Now, I _demand_ an answer or I will kill you now. You will find that I have great experience in that area of expertise..."

His captive's gaze fell once again on the unconscious form of Lady O'Connor and he whispered in a broken voice "Go ahead...kill me now, Monsieur le Fantome...please...I beg of you...it would be a mercy..."

Again, Erik hit the man's head against the wall to in order to reinforce his threat. The movement caused the cowl of the tattered cloak to fall and Erik found himself mask to mask with this unknown intruder. The man had a roughly sewn brown leather mask that covered all of his face except for the eyes and an opening for the mouth. For the first time in his life, Erik was aware of the intense curiosity that was inspired by a simple piece of leather covering.

The eyes behind the mask were dark and intense with emotion; at the moment, only extreme sorrow and pain were reflected in the gaze. He unconsciously loosened his grip on the man's neck and shoulders and when he did so, a small gold locket dislodged itself from the folds of the man's collar.

"_They ascertained that all effects were returned to me but a locket which I had given him as an engagement gift.."._

Rose's words echoed through his mind and removing his hand from the man's shoulder, Erik grasped the locket and studied it. The man looked down and gasped and struggled against the vice-like grip on his neck as he tried to free himself.

"Monsieur, no! Please let that be! Please! I beg of you!"

But Erik had already read the inscription engraved on the front of the locket and had seen the two line portraits inside. He released his hold on the other's neck and stepped back, seeing this man in a new light.

The other masked man remained pressed against the wall as he cradled his masked face in his gloved hands.

"Monsieur, please understand...she cannot know that I'm here." He begged, his voice muffled by the leather of his mask and gloves.

"I beg of you, please understand…she cannot know…_she_ _must not know…"_

_A/N: Well, I suppose this just about sums it up for all of you who I left hanging on this! The mysterious stranger is revealed (at least I hope you consider him revealed) and I'm sure that many of you can now figure out where I'm heading with this. _

_I apologize for my lack of updates; my life has been extremely hectic as of late thanks to problems with my semester, my apartment, my car, and with my health. At least nobody in the family has died yet…however the one family car was stolen last week so we have lost one mechanical member of our family! I'm hoping for everything to calm down after two weeks, but one never can be sure! _

_I would also like to apologize for the fact that I will not be acknowledging reviewers individually in this chapter; I've done so up until this point but since I just want to get this chapter up and posted to prove that I am still alive, I haven't taken the time to thank you each for your praise and advice. I will continue to do so, especially with this piece, in further chapters when things aren't such a mess at home. So for all of you who have reviewed for me, from my long-time reviewers to the newest phan phiction phan, thank you very much for taking the time to give me your input. It is greatly appreciated._

_Many reviewers and private emails mentioned similarities between my story and the Pot and yes, they are intentional. You will hopefully notice more similarities as the story progresses…however, be forewarned that I do not intend on a similar ending._

_Many reviewers also seem to be missing the literary reference that I had mentioned in an earlier chapter. I suppose that it was not as obvious as I thought it would be (normally, I am oblivious to a literary reference and stupidly assumed that everyone would catch this one in seconds since I knew of it and was comparing all of you against myself…this only goes to prove that I really do read weird stuff!) but I have no intention nor need to divulge it now. If you had caught it, you would've anticipated the events of this chapter but if you didn't find it, you've already got all the info you need at this point. At any rate, I promise to make sure that I include the full text of the literary reference as an Epilogue to this piece; some of you might enjoy it even though it's just about as depressing as the ending I'm intending._

_Fans of 'How Hungry' are going to hate me. You probably already hate me as it is for leaving you with such a cliffhanger, much less nearly a month late in updates. There is one more chapter that will end the story for you but thanks to an evil ftp account, all that I had written for it has been lost to the black hole that is cyberspace. I basically have half of what I originally wrote and so the update will have to be postponed until a bit later since I don't want to disappoint anyone with a rushed ending._

_Thanks for all who sent reviews or emails with words of encouragement for the end of the semester; emails are always nice to receive and it is a comfort to know that some people in the world are supportive!_


	10. Chapter Nine

_Author's Note: Salut. I was going to say that anything you recognize is not mine, but some of you might recognize some of these people now that you've been reading for a while so there goes that method of stating 'what's mine is mine'…_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Nine**_

The New Year's masquerade ball was at its peak of excitement. The elaborate costumes danced in a rainbow of colors with exotic fabrics and jewels gleaming in the candlelight. Those waltzing swept along the floor to the musical climax of the piece and the sound of laughter and enjoyment echoed throughout the rooms.

Off in a shadowed corner, a tall man in his robes and black mask stood watching the crowd with his golden eyes. Usually on this night he took perverse pleasure in being able to pass through the crowds unnoticed. But after the episodes of late, he was unable to shake the feeling of doom that he felt penetrating to his bones. He had stood in the shadows for nearly an hour and a half when he heard a soft familiar voice whisper in his ear

"I knew that you would come tonight, Monsieur le Fantome."

Turning immediately towards the sound, Erik found Enoch Ardenson dressed in a similar suit and cloak standing to his left. His face was completely covered by the same brown leather mask which left only his eyes visible. His hands were also gloved in the same brown leather as before.

"I apologize, Monsieur; I had no desire to startle you. I noticed you standing over here alone and wished to thank you again for your discretion that evening and that of the gala night. It has been a long time since I was able to attend a gala performance. Being able to attend and to see...it was...it meant more to me than you could possibly imagine. You have my gratitude, monsieur."

It seemed that the muffled sounds Enoch made when he spoke were forever present in his speech. Erik swallowed very uncomfortably, not wanting to wonder after the cause of them. Swallowing again, he regained his composure and whispered back "Why are you here? You have no connection to the opera company so why have you come to this ball tonight? Why not confront her and have it done with?"

In his muffled voice, Enoch whispered "I am here tonight because I can feel alive tonight. Surely you can sympathize with me...I find it pleasurable to walk through a crowd without notice and what better chance do I have than at a masquerade? And I only wanted to see one more time before I...just once more, you understand...if there was even the smallest chance that she...I had to come...I just wanted to see..."

"Her? My God, you're stalking her! Let her know or have it done with once and for all!"

The other's shoulders began to tremble and with an audible sniff and quick intake of breath, he raised his head and looked directly into Erik's golden eyes with his own black. In a barely audible choked voice, he replied "I wanted to see her...is that so wrong?"Erik simply stared at him, frozen with pity for the man in front of him.

The black eyes were filled with tears and only utter despair and pain could be read in their gaze. With a shuddering breath Enoch continued; his voice raspy and thick with emotion. "Is it truly an evil wish for me to desire to see her? I've kept my distance as I should, but is it cruel for me to long for just a glimpse of her? She knows not that I am here, which is how it should be...she must never know that my loathsome gaze has touched her...it is how it must be. I mean her and her...lover no harm. I just wanted to see her. To see her one more time before I..." but he broke off then with a gasp and with his left hand, clutched at his chest as he fixed his eye on the entry stairs of the room. Erik also turned his gaze to the stairs and immediately found what it was that had caused the other to respond so violently.

A tall, masked blonde man in dressed in a white satin groom's suit styled after the garments of Louis XIV stood on the steps. But it was not he, but his consort who had gained the attention of the two men in the shadows as well as several of the others in the main hall. She was dressed as a bride, in a gown of the finest flowing satins and laces. Unlike many of the costumes in the hall, her gown was of the modern styles, although obviously an American adaptation. Her face bore no mask but was shrouded in her veil and at her throat she wore the pearl broach which had been purchased for her for this exact ensemble. Although she was seen from a distance, there was no mistaking who she was even if the auburn hair peaking out from under the veil didn't give her identity away.

Erik was amazed that she and the baron had actually attended - shocked beyond belief was more like it given the former's reputed aversion to such gatherings. As they descended the stairs, arm in arm, they were nearly intercepted by Poligny and Cusset but with a hearty laugh from the baron and a quick move from the bride, they side-stepped the managers and continued to the dance floor. Turning back and laughing, the bride announced in her Irish lilt "We are here to dance tonight, not to discuss business, gentlemen!"They refused to speak to any before they reached the dance floor and quickly stepped into the waltz that had already been playing.

Erik finally tore his gaze from the couple and looked back at the man next to him. Enoch stood there as rigid as stone except for the tears that poured steadily from his eyes and down the dark brown material of his mask. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself as if to keep himself from breaking apart and his left hand grasped the edge of his cloak in a death's grip.

Black eyes met gold as the man voiced the comment which was hardly more than a rasp "Her dress..." He turned away and broke into quiet sobs, accentuated only by the soft suctioning sounds which accompanied his speech and breathing.

Erik grabbed his shoulders and turned Enoch towards him again.

"For God's sake, what is it? What on earth..."

"Don't you understand?" He rasped. "Don't you know? Haven't you heard the rumors? That was to be her wedding dress! The dress and veil which had been commissioned by me...and the pearls...oh God, I never thought she could possibly look any lovelier...but now..."

He broke off and turned his head to face the dancers where the stunning white satin of two dancers stood out brightly among the whirlwind of colors as the fast-paced waltz came to an end.

Erik shook Enoch's shoulders violently and harshly whispered "Confront her or have it done with! What on earth is stopping you from going to her?" Both he and Erik looked back over to the dancers where the baron had in fact been cornered by Poligny and Cusset. She however was nowhere to be found.

As if on queue, a light Irish lilt spoke up from the shadows behind the two "Bon soir, Monsieur Garfunkle. I was wondering who would be keeping to the shadows in such a lovely ball as this one and was wondering if I might have a word with you."

Both men whipped around to face the direction of the voice and beheld the Lady Rose O'Connor in her bridal finery. The green eyes behind the veil were smiling and she continued speaking.

"I merely wanted to stop by and thank you for your assistance last week, Monsieur." Erik's eyes widened behind his mask as the woman before him bobbed in a quick curtsey. "Your help that evening was greatly appreciated and I am in your debt."

Smiling and leaning toward him, she stated in a laughing tone "The managers have been trying to discuss the opera with us ever since the night of the gala...poor William was too slow for them this time though! But if I stand still for too long they'll intercept me as well, so I was wondering if you would care for a dance."

Erik choked; his eyes opening wide at her request. "I am afraid that I am unable to, mademoiselle" he finally replied.

Rose tossed back her head and laughed; her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Oh, _that _problem! Well, I assure you it is quite simple to remedy. They'll be playing a reel soon but the waltz is quite simple if you'd prefer to learn it first. But I apologize, I've been inexcusably rude. I have not introduced myself to you, monsieur." she said to the man in the brown leather mask.

"There...there is not need for an introduction, my lady. Any man here would be a fool not to know the name of the most...beautiful woman here tonight."

"Yes, well I'm sure that you know her name, monsieur, but my name is Rose O'Connor!" she replied with a laugh, her eyes shining with merriment.

"My lady, I meant that as a compliment..."

"You flatter me, monsieur. And I would be honored to know the name of one who pays such compliments." she replied, offering her hand to him.

Enoch froze when he saw her outstretched hand. He stared at it for a small period of time and then, with an awkward gesture, took it gently in his gloved hands and brought it to the lips of his mask. After a moment he brought it down again, but did not release his hold when she would've pulled her hand away.

"My...my name is...Simmons, my lady. Gregory Simmons...of Charleston."

Her hand was still cradled awkwardly in his and he continued to stare at it as he held it between them. Rose watched him as he showed no inclination to relinquish his gentle hold on her hand. She swallowed and willed the uncomfortable moment away with another laugh.

"Well, a Charleston man then! That definitely explains the lovely compliments and impeccable manners! Surely, Mister Simmons, you don't mind if I call you Mr. Simmons if you're American, do you? I find Monsieur to be so formal and with too many letters in the spelling! You're familiar with the Virginny Reel, are you not? I've yet to meet a Charleston man who couldn't dance a good reel and I find that I am in desperate need of a partner for the next set."

He started and dropped her hand as he whipped his head up to look into her face. His stuttering voice was thick with emotion as he backed away from her slowly.

"My lady...I...I cannot possibly...you see, I...I cannot...I was...injured with the...army and haven't...I haven't danced a reel in...in years, my lady. I couldn't possibly...I'd likely step on your feet, my lady...I'm no fit partner for one so graceful and...beautiful..."

She smiled sadly behind her veil; her eyes losing some of their sparkle as her mood grew more somber.

"I once knew another soldier in your army, Mr. Simmons. And again, your Charlestonian manners flatter me. But you must dance the reel with me as you are the only partner I shall have. Only a Southerner can do justice to the reel and I would be honored if you would partner me, regardless of how many times you may step on my feet. Just walk through the steps with me, would you please, Mr. Simmons?"

He stared at her and swallowed sharply. He consented, nodding his head at her and she smiled brightly; her eyes gaining more of their sparkle.

"I am honored, Mr. Simmons, to share this dance with you." she said with a slight curtsy. She offered him her satin-clad arm which he took hesitantly. Turning back towards Erik, she smiled again and with a laugh said "Don't you go thinking that you're off the hook now, Monsieur! You'll be the waltzing king by midnight, I promise you!"

The two continued to the dance floor where they took their places among the French dancers brave enough to try out their reel steps in public. With a curtsy from the ladies and a bow from the men, the fast paced music began and soon, the two were lost in the crowd of laughing dancers.

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Enoch Ardenson had never intended to abandon his love. She was his soul, his reason for living, and he found that after he had left, he was unable to live his life without her. During his time with the army, there was never a day that he did not dream of her. Despite the horror of his days, the nights were filled with dreams of his angel.

His angel, a young woman barely older than a child who claimed to love him despite his many deficiencies. His muse, without whom his music held no meaning and his life no purpose.

He had been forced to leave her in order to provide them with a future together. And he had promised that he would return to her. Without the threat of the Confederates, he had never anticipated not being able to keep that promise. He had considered his war days over with the end of the Civil War and it was this rashness that had led him to accept the foolhardy position of a scout for Custer's men. It was due to this rashness that he was still alive today.

By accepting the position of a scout, he was entitled to slightly higher pay and an earlier discharge date. As a result, he was not among Custer's men at the Battle of Little Big Horn that would've undoubtedly cost him his life. Instead, he had ridden ahead of the troops with the other company scout, Gregory Simmons, and the two had been captured by an Indian family after the battle had already taken place.

Their captors had lost a son in the battle and were not kind; Simmons had been tortured to death before the end of the first day. Enoch had not been that lucky; he was stronger and healthier than the other and as a result lasted longer and provided the infuriated savages with more enjoyment. He stayed three days in their camp before the youngest daughter had taken pity on him and helped him to escape.

Truth to be told, he really remembered quite little of those days in captivity. It was just a memory of excruciating pain and it was not until two weeks later when he regained the use of his faculties in the hospital of the U.S. Army that he realized the extent of the damage inflicted upon his person. The doctors had done their best, but nothing could ever completely repair his ruin of a body.

His legs had been broken in numerous places; apparently, he had dragged himself from the camp to the site where he had been discovered by Reno's men. They had broken his ribs and his left arm as well and his entire body was covered in cuts and scrapes. Years later, his left arm was significantly weaker than the other and he walked with a pronounced limp that was worse in cold, damp weather.

The damage to his head, however, was severe. He had been partially scalped and had lost his left ear; it was a miracle that he had survived at all due to the threat of infection. His face had been sliced apart and had even been burned in places. His prominent nose was no more; only a small nub remained of what had once been the most definitive feature of his face.

They had broken his jaw so badly that the doctor had been forced to remove part of it entirely. Years later, he still could not speak clearly and was unable to eat anything that required any great amount of chewing. His previously thin lips were now so twisted that they barely resembled lips at all and merely blended in with the mottled flesh that composed the rest of his face. Surprisingly, they had left his eyes undamaged. When he had been permitted to see the extent of his injuries, he had thrown the hand-held mirror to the floor. He had believed that that day would be the worst day of his life.

He was wrong.

His face was horrible, monstrous to look at. But it was definitely not the worst thing that he had suffered. Upon awakening in the hospital, he had stretched out his right hand to take that of the chaplain who sat praying over him. He had found that his hands had been heavily bandaged and that he was unable to grasp the hand that fingered the Rosary beads at his side. The day after his face was revealed, the bandages on his hands were changed and he discovered the truth; his hands, his precious hands, had been mutilated. On both hands, he was missing his thumbs and forefingers and the bones in his left hand had been shattered almost entirely.

To him, there was nothing worse than the loss of his hands. Never again would he be able to play the violin which he had cherished so dearly, never again would he be able to span over an octave on the piano, an ability which Rose had always envied and he had relentlessly teased her about. His career as a musician was over and he would be unable to start anew. And just when he believed that nothing could possibly get any worse, William Harrington walked back into his life stating that Rose was unwell.

When he had believed that his injuries had only been to his legs and face, Enoch had fully intended to return to Rose and allow her to decide for herself if she still wished for the marriage to take place. However, with the loss of his livelihood and the knowledge that William loved Rose nearly as much as he did himself, Enoch willingly relinquished his claim on Rose's affections. Believing himself to be a burden to her, he took the name of the unfortunate Simmons and pronounced himself dead so that Rose would be free to marry a man who also loved her and who was able to provide for her. William returned to Rose with all of Enoch's possessions except the locket and Enoch was left alone. After he recovered enough to live on his own, he was honorably discharged and went to Charleston in the hopes of finding some kind of work to keep himself occupied until his death.

It was there that he heard the first stirrings about the opera by an American cavalryman and learned that Rose had taken it upon herself to finish and produce the piece. He began to follow her and William around the world, keeping to the shadows and taking menial, laborious jobs to earn enough money to get by. Soon, his life consisted of days gutting fish or cleaning the blood from butchers' cutting blocks. Nights were spent waiting in the shadows for a glimpse of Rose so that he could continue to reconcile himself with his decision. She was better off without him.

He had taken a position cleaning and preparing fish for sale when he came to Paris and spent thirteen hours a day at his job. He tried to ignore the constant jeers from his fellow workers who laughed at the way he awkwardly handled the knives and brushes with his poor hands and how his twisted mouth mispronounced their language. He slept under the bridges of Paris among the beggars and prostitutes of the city. Every night, he went to the Harrington estate or to the Opera to see Rose to reassure himself that she was better off in William's arms than in his. His life revolved entirely around her, he lived for the moments that he saw her and William entering one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, the seconds when she could be seen leaving the Opera and getting into the Harrington carriage. The hours in-between those fleeting moments were meaningless. His heart stopped when he could hear her laughter floating with the wind to where he stood in the shadows. He would stand for hours in the darkness, relishing the faint wisps of her perfume that the breeze carried to him.

He often imagined that he would be better off dead. The happy days of yesteryear were gone. He would never be complete again. His life had been stolen from him and he could only dream of the future that he and Rose might have had together. Dreams of the love, the happiness they would've shared; dreams of little red and black haired children who would never grace the Earth with their presence.

Dreams were all he could have of her, for she belonged to his rival. He had given her away, and now he was alone.

_A/N: Well, that was thoroughly depressing, wasn't it? I know I've been stating about school problems and they aren't fixed yet, but I figured that I would update since this chapter had been written for some time. In all actuality, the prologue, this chapter, and the next two have been written since June when I started them in France; hence why you've gotten two updates at this most stressful time of year. _

_Amber Stag, sorry about the cliffhanger, hope this helps! Thanks for the review._

_Lil Shady, thanks for your support and for your reviews. Yes, you're supposed to be worried about Rose…that was the point of introducing the drinking and the fainting fits :-D! But don't worry, she's not going to die of any illness; that I can promise. I'm glad that you like the different take on PotO, I do too and that is really why I started this piece. I'm sick of E/C and E/OC pairings and thought that it might be interesting to see Phantom from another perspective. Apparently, this desire for diversity is not always appreciated by die-hard phans (notice the definite lack of reviews for this piece compared with 'How Hungry'! but I am truly happy that some people share my taste for originality (Again, a big thanks to all of my constant and consistent reviewers!) Thanks for your support!_

_Neshomeh, I think I stated a decent deal on your website; thanks for the invite by the way! So, I already discussed the lit reference, confirmed the TB, and I don't know what else to do except to thank you for your reviews and your support!_

_Olethros, I am sorry that you have experienced the hell of school work…I don't wish it on anybody except my very worst of enemies. I'm glad that you like the twist of fate and hope that this isn't too twisted for you. Thanks for the reviews!_

_Kinelea, I wanted to welcome you to the world of Phan Phiction when I got your first review but I didn't have time to do so with the last installment. I'm glad that you are enjoying my story so far and strongly encourage you to find access to the original novel as well as that by Susan Kay. I know all about the musical leaving out key parts (I first started as a musical phan too but then fell in love with the Erik of the books rather than the Erik of ALW) and if you like an aggressive Erik, the original novel just might be what you're craving. If you speak and read French, by all means get the novel in French! It loses so much in the translation. Oh, and one final word on my part…don't hate William. I know he's the Raoul figure in this piece and is definitely not my favorite character, but he's a decent guy. If I finish this piece the way I intend to, you'll most likely be better off with an appreciation for William even if he is a selfish pretty-boy. Again, thank you for your support!_

_On a final note, "How Hungry" will be finished. Yes, it WILL be finished! If I get one more bitchy email complaining about the lack of updates I'm going to scream. I had announced in the last chapter of Patron that the file was lost to cyberspace and needs to be redone and it is NOT going to happen anytime during finals week. However, I think I'm complaining to the wrong people here since it seems that the reviewers of this piece took note of the messages in the last chapter and in my profile. I thank you for that. Given the amount of emails and complaints from "How Hungry" readers, would you suggest posting an author's note as a chapter explaining the problem? I personally have hated when authors have done that, especially at a cliffhanger, but I'm getting rather annoyed by the complaints; after one particular email, I was tempted to remove the story entirely and post it elsewhere! Your feedback on the matter will definitely be appreciated. _

_Thanks one and all for your support!_


	11. Chapter Ten

_Author's Note: Actually, with the exception of Poligny's brief appearance in the chapter, I think everyone here belongs to me for once!! _

_**WARNING, there will be graphic thoughts of suicide in this chapter so for those who may be bothered by this, please do not read the third passage of this chapter. **_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Ten**_

For the first time in over four years, Enoch Ardenson held his love in his arms as he spun her about in a reel. He prayed that his leg would not fail him and that she would not notice the fingers of his gloves that were filled with cotton where flesh and bone had once been. Each time she turned and faced away from him, he checked that his mask was securely in place.

'_She must not see...I must not let her know...'_

But having her again in his arms laughing and smiling as she walked through the steps with him, for she had allowed him to lead and had danced slowly so that he could keep up with her without effort, was an experience that he had longed for for nearly five years. In what seemed like both seconds and a lifetime, the dance came to an end. Although his leg ached from his slight exertions, he was pained much more by the knowledge that this reel would be his last dance with the woman he loved more than life itself.

He bowed to her curtsy, willing away the tears that had begun to burn at the corners of his eyes. She raised herself in front of him, still smiling behind the veil. "As I said before, Mr. Simmons, it takes a true Southerner to dance the reel properly. I thank you for the dance."

He couldn't bear to look at her. To look at her and see her smiling at him brought back memories of happier times which were more painful to him now than any other injury that he had ever suffered.

He kept his gaze upon the ground as he offered her his arm to escort her from the dance floor and felt a shiver of pleasure rush through him as she accepted it without hesitation and wound her small, warm arm through his.

"I don't know about you, Mr. Simmons, but I would love a drink. Would you perhaps care for some champagne?"

"Not particularly, my lady, but I shall fetch you a glass should you desire one."

They walked over to the refreshment table where she took a glass of champagne and accepted one of the small cakes offered by a waiter. She lifted her veil and for the first time in over five years, he had the opportunity to study her face closely. She looked as beautiful as she had years before, although time and sorrow had left their mark upon her countenance in the paleness of her cheeks and the faint lines appearing at the corners of her lips and eyes. But despite this, he still found her to be the most beautiful woman in attendance that evening.

"So, Mr. Simmons, you said that you were from Charleston. How on earth did you find your way to Paris?" she asked, her green eyes smiling and her expression open, welcoming, and interested.

"I…I had come here to work, my lady. I travel to where I can find employment."

"But surely you could have found better work in the United States. Do you enjoy traveling, Mr. Simmons?"

"I once did. And you, my lady, do you enjoy your travels?"

"I adore them. It always was a dream of mine to travel and I never believed that I would be able to do so."

"Why did you believe that?"

"I am an orphan, Mr. Simmons. I lived off of charity for the majority of my life; there was no way that I could have afforded to travel."

'_And you would never have been able to afford it had you married me…' _Enoch thought bitterly. Wishing to change the subject to a happier one, he asked "Which city was your favorite, my lady?"

"St. Malo, that is for certain. Even though it is cold and gray, I adored the city. It was truly beautiful, a romantic's paradise. How far have you traveled?"

The two fell into a comfortable conversation by the refreshment table as another reel played. They laughed at each other's stories and before either had realized it, the two were conversing as freely and as pleasantly as they had in the years before; each unconsciously baiting the other for amusement. Rose took another glass of champagne and, deciding that a better conversation could be held out in the foyer of the opera, the two went outside to one of the balconies surrounding the grand staircase and continued their talk.

Enoch had completely forgotten how it had felt to be around Rose; for five years he had adored her from afar but he had truly forgotten that how in a few minutes, she could make him feel more alive than he had for ages. Their teasing and bantering continued and neither was aware that they truly had fallen into their routine of the past; both felt alive and rejuvenated and it felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off of both of their souls by the laughter of the moment.

After twenty minutes of such behavior, Enoch had forgotten the matter of his hands and face. He had forgotten about his misery, about his self-imposed sacrifice and instead preferred to live for the moment with the woman he loved. He loved watching her perfect lips part with laughter, felt empowered by knowing that it was he who caused her emerald eyes to sparkle with merriment. However, his guard was let down and he became incautious. After one of her jokes, he replied with a comment that he had often teased her with in their better days.

"Mr. Simmons, I've often been told that sarcasm is quite unbecoming in a lady. Surely you wouldn't be inclining me to such unladylike behavior!"

"My dear Rose, I must commend myself for your amazing progress."

And with that said, he stroked the line of her chin with his gloved hand. Those words and his touch completely broke the spell that had fallen over the two and Rose's laughing, sparkling eyes froze. In less than a second, her entire expression went from one of happiness and amusement to a severe, calculating glare. Meanwhile, Enoch stared with horror at his gloved hand as he pulled it away from her cheek; he had forgotten about it. He had forgotten everything and looked to Rose, praying to all deities that she would not catch his mistake.

One of the gods was on his side as the orchestra started to play the next waltz in those few seconds of horrible silence. As the opening chords sounded, Rose's exacting gaze lifted off of him and looked up to the mosaic ceilings. Her lips parted with a sigh and she whispered brokenly "Oh, dear God..." Enoch stared at her as she turned as white as a ghost and her eyes filled with tears.

Not able to bear her tears, he risked questioning her. "My lady...are you well? What is the matter?"

A violin solo began in the ballroom and immediately, Enoch knew the cause of her pain. The song was the waltz that they had planned to be their first dance as husband and wife; a simple melody accentuated by the violin solo that Enoch had once adored playing. Recalling this as he beheld her in her bridal attire, a wave of pain nearly overcame him and he pulled away from her. She looked to him questioningly and then sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I apologize, Mr. Simmons...this waltz, you see, was to be my wedding waltz a long time ago; the first waltz to be played at my wedding with my American soldier. He didn't come home."

She replaced her veil and turned to leave. Unthinkingly, Enoch reached out to her and brushed his gloved hand over her shoulder.

"Lady O'Connor...please wait."

She turned to him and looked up into his mask. He gently took her hands in his and looked into the tearful eyes behind the veil and continued to whisper.

"Your soldier...you loved him, did you not?"

"What? What business of it is yours if I did?"

"Your soldier would've…he would have wanted you to be happy. He would not have wanted you to remember him only with sadness and regret."

"I know he would've wished me happiness."

"You are not happy then? You are not happy with the baron?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Simmons." She answered coldly, pulling her hands from his.

"Please," he begged, his voice increasingly becoming more inarticulate as he became more flustered. "I did not mean to offend you. Please forgive me…"

She turned back to him and with eyes overflowing with tears answered him in a voice half broken with pain. "You wish to know the truth? Yes, I loved him. I love him still. He was everything to me; my life and my soul. I do not desire to live without him and yet I must so that we can be together someday."

Again she made to leave but Enoch called out to her. "Would you still have loved your soldier if he had been changed by the battles, my lady?"

She turned toward him, her eyes swimming with tears as pain and anguish were reflected in her gaze. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"If he had been changed. If he had been forced to do horrible things in order to serve his country. If he had been wounded as a result of these things…would you still have loved him?"

"I would have loved him regardless of anything."

"Even if he were wounded…mangled and disfigured. If he were a ruined man, would you have loved him still?"

"I loved him. I love him. None of that would have mattered."

Heartened by the sign that she still cared enough to remember him, he decided to take a chance. He walked toward her and stiffly bowing before her, asked in a low tone "May I have this dance, my lady?"

She froze before him, her tearing eyes wide with surprise. However, she accepted his hand and let him draw her close into a waltz position. Time seemed to stop as the two slowly danced to the haunting melody in the grand foyer.

'_If I told her, would she ever forgive me?'_ Enoch thought to himself as she rested in his arms. _'Would we ever be able to be as we were before? Is there any way that I can spare her this pain?'_

The song ended, yet the two remained entwined in their dancing position. Staring down into Rose's eyes, Enoch swallowed and willed himself to utter the words that would tell her, the words that would reunite them and bind them together.

"Rose…"

* * *

"Excuse me, monsieur." Came a strong voice from the ballroom. William Harrington walked out of the salon and onto the balcony where the two dancers had quickly separated, the moment of before lost forever.

"Rose, are you well? I am so sorry about the waltz. I had spoken with the conductor and he had promised that he would not play that piece. I know how it affects you." He took Rose's hands in his own and Enoch's heart twisted as she gave William a smile.

"I am fine, William. You needn't worry; Mr. Simmons kept me from getting too emotional."

William's head snapped up to stare at Enoch, the color flowing rapidly from his face as he took in the other's appearance. Rose took no notice of this however, and letting go of one of William's hands she stretched out her arm to the other.

"You both must forgive me, I've been horribly rude all evening with these introductions! William, may I present Mr. Simmons from Charleston. Mr. Simmons, this is my patron, Baron William Harrington." The two stared at each other and shook hands. Just to confirm his suspicions, William ran his fingers over those of Enoch, taking note of those that were missing. When he stepped back, William had gotten a grasp on the situation and left Enoch shaking and humiliated. Upon seeing this, William laughed and tried his best to alleviate Enoch's anxiety by means of small-talk.

"My dear Rose, I do hope that I am more than you than just a patron! And Mr. Simmons is a Charleston man? I dare say, it's a long way from home for you, sir. What brings you to France?"

"Work, sir."

"And here I thought that the United States was known as a place of riches. It's good to know that Europe hasn't completely been surpassed. What do you do here in Paris?"

Enoch was spared the embarrassment of answering when Poligny and Cusset came out of the ballroom and intercepted Rose. "The Minister of Fine Arts is here and we simply must introduce you to him, my lady." Cusset chimed. Smiling at the two men, completely oblivious to the tension between them, Rose curtseyed and left with a flippant "I'll be right back, gentlemen."

When she had left, William stared long and hard at Enoch and asked in a low tone "I trust that you are better than the last time I saw you?"

"I'm much better than the last time, sir."

"What are you really doing in Paris?"

"Work, as I told you."

"What do you do? You were a soldier in the states."

"That is my concern, sir."

Sighing, William spread his arms in supplication. "I did not mean to offend you. I did not expect to see you here; you caught me off guard. How are you doing?"

"Better than I was before, sir."

"I'm sure you've heard of how precious the opera is. I am indebted to you for saving it."

"I would think that you would've hated me for giving it to her. It has kept her from you."

William looked at him sharply and in a low voice said "While that is none of your concern, it has saved her. It has given her a purpose in her life until she can move on from her past. Did you tell her about it?"

"Tell me about what, William?" Rose approached them again as the white satin and laces surrounded her like a cloud. "I'm surprised you're both out here. I didn't realize that either of you would wish to become so acquainted with the other." She said with a smile.

William looked to Rose and his face clearly showed that at that moment, he had made a resolution. "There is something that you must know, Rose. Mr. Simmons and I were acquaintances before this evening. You know that he was an American soldier?"

Looking at the two men before her, Rose's smile left her face almost immediately as the calculating expression took its place. "Yes, I know that he was a soldier. Where would the two of you have met?"

"In Montana, Rose."

"Montana?" the word was a disbelieving whisper. "What on earth were you doing in Montana, William?"

"Looking for Ardenson." Rose's face lost its color and in a low, broken voice she asked "What? You went there for him? Why?"

William took her hands in his and stared down into her face as his expression softened. "Need you ask? For you, of course. You wouldn't see anyone, wouldn't eat, wouldn't talk…what was I to do? It was the only thing I could do. I went to make sure, to ascertain that he was dead and to bring back to you what I could. It wouldn't have been the first time Americans made a mistake. All I could think of was you in your room and what if he was alive and hurt and unable to reach you; you both would've died. I had to make sure, so I left and went to his regiment. And this man knew him." He gestured toward Enoch wearily.

"What?" Rose asked, her lips quivering in her pale face as she struggled to deal with the emotions that were tearing her apart.

"Mr. Simmons was the other scout with Ardenson. He's the one who had the opera and knew that Enoch was dead. He gave me the opera to give to you. And I arranged for a soldier to give it to you rather than me."

"William…" she broke off, her voice thick with tears. She turned her face away from his in order to hide her tears but William took her face between his hands and looked down into it lovingly.

"Rose, I love you. I'll always love you and I always have. I'd go to the ends of the earth to make you happy, even if it meant giving you over to another. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier; I don't know why. Perhaps I didn't want your gratitude, I don't know. Please forgive me."

Her eyes widened with this declaration and her face changed as if a sudden realization came to her. She threw her arms around William's neck and brought his shocked face down to hers and embraced him with a passionate kiss. Tears streamed down her face and his as they pressed their bodies closer together. When they ended their kiss, they stood holding each other for a moment, each looking into the other's face with love and desire.

Rose was the first to come out of her trance and pulling away from William, approached Enoch. She wiped the tears from her face and with a sad smile she said "And you, I thank you. Thank you so much for keeping these things for me. Thank you for being a friend to him." In one of the most unladylike gestures she ever did, she reached out and embraced Enoch's shaking form and held him close.

She parted from him and was quickly whisked away by William back to the ballroom, leaving Enoch standing alone in the balcony as the tears began to fall.

* * *

**_(ATTENTION!!!! If suicide contemplation or self-mutilation bothers or offends you, please do not read this section! Please don't say that I didn't warn you…)_**

Limping blindly through the opera house, Enoch found himself in an obscure dressing room near the end of a darkened corridor. Everywhere he turned, he was haunted by the ghosts of what he had lost. The sounds from the lovers embracing in the boxes, the laughter echoing throughout the building, even the sound of the orchestra playing tormented his soul. He had lost his last chance. He had lost her.

He had seen it in her face when William made his passionate declaration. He knew that Rose had cared for William, but it had taken proof of the depth of his love before she could come to love him as she had once loved the other. Once she had gotten that proof, it was a matter of seconds before her heart was closed to him forever.

His mask was suffocating him. The tears that had begun to fall back in the foyer had saturated the leather of his mask but showed no signs of stopping. Closing the door to the room, he turned up the gas lamp slightly so that he could find a place to sit down. Removing the glove of his right hand, he slowly undid the ties to his mask and lifted his wig from his head. Lifting the wet leather from his face, he held it in his mangled hand and stared at it in the dim light.

Looking up briefly, he caught his reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. He stood and walked over to it slowly, staring at himself with fascination rather than the horror of before.

'_This is what you are…'_ Enoch told himself. _'This is why you cannot have her. This is what you are; a hideous, disfigured monster unable to live in the sunlight. Even someone with her heart could not come to love you; you are repulsive. Nobody as beautiful as her deserves to be tied to such a creature.' _

He touched his mangled fingers to the reflective glass as if to confirm that it was his reflection. _'You are a monster of her nightmares. She will never come to love you. Despite her goodness, she could never forgive you. She will loathe you…"_

His broken jaw clenched painfully as he contemplated these thoughts and his fingers came together in a twisted parody of a fist. Seeing his hand reflected back at him was the final straw; he swung his fist into the glass.

It shattered immediately on contact and pieces of glass embedded themselves in the already scarred flesh. He roared with agony as he continued to beat his hands into the mirror, some pieces cutting into his face as they flew and others cutting through the leather on his left hand. When the mirror was completely shattered, he fell to his knees amid the sea of glass. He rocked back and forth like a madman as he sobbed, digging his bleeding hands into his face as if to claw the horrible visage from his head.

When his sobs had quieted, he opened his eyes to see the destruction around him. The millions of glass pieces reflected his tortured gaze in the dim light and his stomach heaved.

Suddenly, one of the larger glass shards caught his attention. Instead of reflecting his face, it reflected the light from the lamp. To him, it looked as if it were glowing. He reached for it, ignoring the sharp pains as his clumsy hands were cut. He was careful to keep its surface averted from his face as he brought it closer to him. The edges seemed to glow with a beautiful, radiant light; in the back of his mind he realized what he had to do to end the pain. He wanted to be surrounded by this warm light, the darkness was cold and he wanted peace. It seemed as though the entire room was bathed with a calming presence as he slowly brought the glowing edge of the glass to his wrist.

_A/N: Wow…two truly depressing chapters in one row. I think we need to bring Carlotta in here for the comic relief. :-D_

_I hope that nobody was truly offended by the third section of this chapter and I hope that it wasn't too graphic. I had promised frequent updates up to this point, but after this there won't be some until at some point in the holidays. So, to help relieve the anxiety over the cliff-hanger, please keep in mind that it really wouldn't be completely tragic if Enoch died now; I can't let my trio off that easy._

_Lil Shady, thanks for your review! I also enjoyed when Erik was the one to bring up stalking; when I think of Erik, I think that he would've been much more reasonable in the days before Christine popped up. Maybe we'll get to see how he changes when she does… Oh, and I could kiss you for bringing up the selfishness issue on Enoch's part! Sometimes, my reviewers say things that I completely agree with; that was definitely one of them. I applaud you for agreeing with me on this part! Thanks again!_

_Olethros, I don't think there are too many clues hidden in the story other than a chin-stroke. When I go back to rewrite this, I will include more. I hope that you like this twist of events and thank you for your review._

_Wandering Child and Phtmangl1013, thank you for your reviews. I hope that you don't mind the twist on this story._

_Kinelea, thanks for your reviews. I hope that you are enjoying the story thus far and hope that William's performance in this chapter wasn't too unpleasant for your tastes. As always, I encourage you to read the books, they are wonderful works of art, but I do cringe at the thought of the movie. I was always one who never thought that Erik should be brought back to Hollywood and I have extremely mixed feelings about that they are going to do to his character. Then again, I've mutilated his character in all of my pieces, so I suppose that I have no room to talk. But one thing I can say is that the disfigurement of my Erik's and even Enoch is going to be worse than the one on Gerard Butler given that I try to keep Erik's facial description as close to that in the original novel as possible…I'm afraid that I do have a problem with an attractive phantom, as odd as that sounds! Regardless, thank you for your support! _


	12. Chapter Eleven

_Author's Note: Once again, everybody actually belongs to me in this chapter!_

_**The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Eleven**_

"What on earth is going on in here?" A voice called from the hallway. Enoch froze at the sound of the door opening; the glass shard glinting in the dim light of the lamp.

"Honestly, if you must entertain in your dressing room you could at least have some courtesy to keep your voices down. You could be heard all the way down the hallway..." the door completely opened and whatever was about to be said died on the intruder's lips.

"Oh dear lord...what is going on in here?" Turning the shard so that it would reflect the owner of the voice, Enoch saw Rose, looking like an angel in her white raiment and illuminated from behind by the lights of the hallway.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice low yet thick with horror. She took a step closer into the room and surveyed the situation, taking in every detail from the shattered mirror to the broken man before her.

"Oh God...Lieutenant, please...Mr. Simmons, I beg of you...please put that down...please..."

Shaking with humiliation, Enoch let the shard fall from his mangled fingers. Looking down at it, he could still see her figure reflected in the glass and his stomach twisted with the horror of being seen in such a state. His mask and wig were across the room; he was exposed and she had seen him. Putting his bloodied hands to his face, he folded his head down to his chest and tried to cover as much area as possible so as to spare her from the gruesome sight and himself from her burning gaze. He could hear the faint rustling of her skirt as she took more steps into the room and carefully approached him. Laying her hand down lightly on his shoulder, she felt the horrible tremors that ran through his body and began to caress him in an attempt to soothe his pain. Tears began to flow down his mangled cheeks and she tried to comfort him in a soft voice.

"Mr. Simmons, it's all right...I promise it will be alright...just relax now..."

Enoch barely had time to relish the feeling of her soft touch oh his shoulders before approaching voices from the hallway startled both of them. Whipping around toward the source of the sounds, Rose kept her eyes on the door as she offered her gloved hand to him.

"Mr. Simmons, we must get out of here. Come on, hurry..." she helped him to stand and ushered him toward the door after retrieving his mask and wig. She took his arm and pulled him quickly down a series of corridors until they stopped at the very last door in the least lit section of dressing rooms. Unlocking the door swiftly, Rose pushed him inside the darkened room before following him and refastening the bolts behind her.

"Don't turn around, Mr. Simmons. Let me fetch a chair for you." He stood in the absolute darkness and listened to her movements as she pulled the chair from her desk nearby and gently pushed him into it. She turned and lit the gas lamp on her desk but kept the light level low as she brought it over closer to him and examined him. Hanging his head in shame, his battered face burned with embarrassment as she stared at him as closely as she would a laboratory specimen while she checked the extent of the damage to his person.

It was hard for her to see with so much blood caked on his hands and on his face, yet it seemed as though the worst of the injuries were just a few deep gashes on his hands and not his wrists as she had first feared. Looking into his eyes, she could easily see that the damage inside was much worse than that which could be healed with bandages and stitches.

"Please, stay right here and let me fetch the doctor for you." Rose said as she backed away toward the door.

"No!" Enoch cried, reaching his arms out to her as he struggled to stand. "Please, no doctors. Please...I beg of you..."

Rose stared at him for a brief moment, taking in every detail of his person. Moving toward him slowly, she again examined him and took one of his mangled hands into her own and turned it over in her palms.

"You should have a doctor look at those cuts, Lieutenant. You may need to be stitched..."

"No...it will be fine. I will take care of this myself. Please..." Enoch backed away from her as far as her chair would permit and tried to pull his hand from her gentle grasp. Her eyes burned with anger and her grip tightened as she held the wounded appendage up in front of his face.

"Your hands are useless to you in this state" she said coldly. "And they will be even more useless should they not receive care. They need attention and I'm afraid that I can do little more than clean and bandage them for you. Even so, that may not be enough. If you intend to go smashing glasses then you had best be prepared to accept the consequences. And this time, you need a doctor."

She unlocked the door and moved to open the knob when he called out to her. "My lady, please..." his voice broke off as the tears began to fall again. She let his hand fall limply to his side and merely watched as the man before her hunched over and began to rock back and forth with silent sobs.

This display was too painful for Rose; her innards twisted as she was overwhelmed by pity for this man and her own emotions were in turmoil. She turned away from him and walked over to her desk and began to absently examine her notes in an attempt to ignore the agonized state of her companion. When his sobs had mostly been contained and her own emotions controlled, she quietly asked him "You truly believe that you do not require a doctor's aide?"

Rather than risking his voice, he merely nodded to her but with her back turned, she did not notice. Suddenly, he felt her fingers on his face as she held it up so that he could look at her and he could not help but flinch under her close scrutiny. "I asked if you truly believe that you do not require a doctor."

He nodded and she removed her hands from his face. Swallowing and looking straight into his eyes, she stated softly "I will clean and bandage these to the best of my abilities then, but I am no doctor and they may not heal properly."

Laughing to himself with the utter and complete irony of the situation, he gestured to his face and hands and bitterly muttered "None of this has healed properly..."

She answered his comment with a weak smile and, moving to touch his cheek, caught a glimpse of her satin-clad arm and pulled back. Before he could mistake her action as rejection, she gestured to her gown and with a weak laugh stated "We can't have me soiling this dress, can we? Stay right here and dry your tears, I will be right back." She handed him her cotton handkerchief edged with lace and stepped behind the dressing screen.

He heard the rustling of her gown as she unfastened her dress and laid it over the screen in a waterfall of white satin. She returned quickly, clad in a dark green dressing gown and stood before him with her auburn hair falling out of its plaits. "Where do you live, Mr. Simmons?"

At this, he hung his head even lower than he had before; he was completely unwilling to tell her that he lived nowhere, that he wandered about until he found his respective hole under a bridge.

"Well, if you won't answer, I'm afraid that I cannot offer you a ride home. You'll have to spend the evening with me here. I won't hear of you going off on your own tonight." She turned back to her drawers and pulled out two identical silver flasks. Opening one and sniffing at its contents, she closed it and instead opened the other and offered it to his twisted lips.

"Take a small sip of this. Only a bit, though. I should have something to mix this in, but I haven't anything proper at the moment."

Obediently, Enoch opened his mouth and let her pour a sour liquid in. Swallowing, he grimaced and fought to keep the syrup down before he looked back up to her with surprise in his eyes. "Laudanum? You keep undiluted laudanum?"

"I would've offered you brandy but I think that rest is what you need now more than alcohol. It will dull the pain, though. Come with me to the chaise and don't look to the right."

He knew that the huge mirror was hung on her wall and obeyed, not certain if he would be able to restrain himself should he see his twisted reflection beside her radiant one in the small room. She led him to the chaise and helped him to shrug off his coat and cloak. Turning back to her drawers, she gathered her washbasin, a roll of bandages and scissors, and the other silver flask and brought them over to him.

The strength of the laudanum was beginning to take effect as the pain lessened and a sleepy haze came over him. He became aware of her washing his face with the lavender scented water and barely felt the sting of the alcohol or the pricks as she pulled the slivers of glass out of his hands. She didn't speak until she had already begun to wind bandages around his twisted hands.

"May I ask what happened to you?"

He turned his head toward her, the drug numbing his senses so that he could no longer be concerned by the embarrassment of being seen. "In the army. I was captured."

She looked to him sharply, her mouth hardening as she contemplated this response. As her hands continued to deftly wind the bandages around his, she voiced her second question.

"And tonight, what happened?"

This question brought him to complete alertness once more and a sea of tears sprung to his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. He couldn't possibly tell her the truth now; it would kill him. Repressed sobs tore at his chest and he turned his mangled face away from her and buried it in the cushions of her chaise. She laid her hands on his shoulder and whispered in the hole that had once been covered by an ear "Just cry it out...you will feel better after you have a good cry."

He turned to her with surprise and she opened her arms to him. Unable to resist, he threw himself into her gentle embrace. His tears flowed down and saturated the soft green velvet of her bodice while she continued to rock him in her arms.

* * *

"I will never go to one of these damn celebrations again…" William muttered to himself as he walked slowly through the halls of the opera. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he had taken far too much champagne while waiting for Rose's return to the grand foyer. Now, courtesy of alcohol, he was victim to one of the worst hangover headaches he had ever suffered. It was well after midnight and all he wanted to do was to collect Rose, give her a Happy New Year kiss, and then be driven home to where he could collapse in bed in order to sleep this off. 

He had not counted on her disappearing for the remainder of the evening, nor had he anticipated the screaming match that Carlotta had with the managers regarding a shattered mirror in her dressing room and the imaginary apparition which had supposedly broken it. The soprano's shrill voice still rang in his ears even as he walked through the empty hallways to Rose's dressing room.

He blamed his inebriation on Simmons – he hadn't counted on him being here tonight. He hadn't counted on having to expose his soul and his secrets to Rose on tonight of all nights.

And he really hadn't counted on walking into her dressing room to find his fiancée asleep in the man's arms.

In his half-drunken haze, he really couldn't believe what he was seeing at first. But after rubbing his eyes and blinking resulted in no change in the scene before him, he was forced to concede that it was true. It was easy to see that something emotional had occurred in his absence; the tears on Simmons' face were proof of that. And speaking of Simmons' face…

'_Dear God! What on earth happened to him?'_ William wondered as his eyes focused on the mass of twisted flesh before him. He had known that the man had sustained serious injuries, but he had never suspected something as horrid as this! Not wishing to disturb the two sleepers, he turned around and walked out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him quietly and sat directly across from it against the wall.

He would wait until morning to question the two; none of them were in any condition to do it now.

* * *

_Warm…_

_Soft…_

_Safe…_

For the first time in over five years, Enoch awoke with a sense of security and comfort. His sleeping position was a tad awkward but the softness and warmth of his bed and pillows certainly made up for it. Unthinkingly, he pressed his face into the softness and relished the feel of velvet against his poor cheeks.

_Velvet?_

His eyes snapped open and he forced himself to sit upright only to find Rose asleep next to him with her velvet-clad arms still draped limply across him. He was at once overwhelmed by emotions; the shock of finding himself in this position, the intense yearning for her, and the sadness, anger, and despair fell upon him like waves in which he might drown.

Fighting with himself to calm the mad beating of his heart, he carefully dislodged himself from her arms and quietly assembled his things which had been scattered throughout the room during the past evening. Awkwardly, he adjusted his wig as he looked in her mirror and moved to replace his mask when he regarded her sleeping form with a pang of regret. Walking back over to her, he stared at her as she slept peacefully; her beautiful hair had come partially undone and her scarlet lips were parted in a soft smile. Despite the protests of his conscience, Enoch leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek and allowed his bandaged hand to drift briefly across the length of her chin. He stepped back then and tied his mask, refusing to allow the tears to fall from his eyes again. After checking himself once again in the mirror, he fumbled a bit with her door and stepped out into the hallway.

He slowly began to walk away from her closed door when a voice called to him from the shadows.

"Have you the time, Mr. Simmons?"

Enoch whirled around, looking for the source of the voice only to find William Harrington sitting in the shadows of the hallway. He looked awful; his eyes were bloodshot, his thick hair in disarray, the beginnings of a beard showed on his unshaven chin.

Enoch was frozen to his place as the baron slowly stood and approached him with a stern, calculating expression on his usually attractive face. "I've been waiting to escort my fiancée home from last night's festivities. Perhaps you might know where she may be?"

The shock of William's words took the air out of Enoch's lungs and he struggled to regain his composure. His mouth had suddenly gone dry and he found himself unable to answer but for a croak. "Your fiancée…"

William folded his arms across his chest and stood back as he examined the man before him. He seemed about to say something but then thought better of it and merely responded.

"Yes, my fiancée. Surely, you have already heard; she finally accepted my proposal last night while in front of all Parisian society. It's bound to be reported in several columns by now."

Enoch's mouth seemed to be filled with cotton as he contemplated this answer. His entire being ached with this knowledge although he knew the truth; that he himself was responsible for this situation. At a complete loss for words, he merely hung his head while William looked on at him critically.

"If I didn't know better, sir, I'd say that you were in love with her!" William said with a slight laugh. Enoch looked up sharply, his dark eyes widening in horror and his poor mouth trying desperately to form words but fortunately, William chose that moment to become preoccupied with his missing cufflink and missed the slip in composure that would have easily betrayed Enoch.

"Where the Hell did this damn thing go off to? Oh well…so Mr. Simmons, please explain to me why you spent the night with my fiancée?"

Again, Enoch found himself speechless and looked down to his bandaged hands. There, he found an answer and he slowly lifted the mutilated appendages to William and muttered "I had an accident. She bandaged them."

William looked at the other man and although slightly suspicious of him, quickly quenched the thought and moved on to other matters.

"That is very grave indeed. But please excuse me, I am anxious to get her home. It is late enough as it is…or early enough, rather." He stated as he checked his pocket watch.

"Forgive me, baron, but what time is it?" Enoch asked quietly, placing his hands in his pockets.

"About seven…"

"Oh, God…" Enoch exclaimed with horror. "I am late, please forgive me…" He turned to run away but William's strong arm detained him.

"To where are you rushing?"

"To work, I'm already late…"

"Sir, the only people who work this early on a holiday are the prostitutes and fishmongers…"

"Which is what I am! I must go, please excuse me!"

"For heaven's sake! You simply cannot leave just yet…you told me that you had come to Europe for work. Surely there are harbors in the states."

Enoch tried to pull away without answering but William still held on to his shoulder. Looking at the masked man before him, William muttered "I will have my carriage take you to where you need to go. Come along, I'll wake her later in the morning."

He helped the former soldier hurry through the opera to the grand rotunda where his loyal coachman and footman still awaited their master. Enoch had difficulty ascending the steps of the carriage but the footman and William both offered their assistance to get him comfortably in the seat. William moved to close the door, but Enoch's bandaged hands suddenly grasped his sleeve.

"Please don't tell her where I'm going! Please! I beg of you…"

Looking into the tormented eyes of the other man, William simply nodded his head and fastened the bolts on the door. As he watched the carriage drive out of sight, an uncomfortable thought came to him; one that would easily explain the mysterious appearance of Simmons, his unfortunate disfigurement, and his intense desire to keep Rose unaware of his current situation.

He watched the smoke rise steadily from the Parisian chimneys and into the frosty morning air while this horrible suspicion began to take root in his heart. Manfully, he conquered his traitorous emotions; Rose had agreed to marry him, after all. Turning around and walking back into the Opèra, he was determined to not let his doubts taint his happiness.

_A/N: Well, I'm back although only for a short while. Real life got in the way of things for quite a bit and now I'm at university with finals looming ahead. This chapter was probably the most rushed out of anything that I've written thus far and I hope that it doesn't seem too bad considering the timing. A complete rewrite of this story is under way and it will most likely be posted periodically over the summer along with my new fics 'Phantomesque' and 'Repetition'. Thanks to all readers and reviewers for your support and I hope that you enjoy this short installment. _


	13. Chapter Twelve

_Author's Note: Three chapters in a row; everyone belongs to me!_

_**Patron of the Opera – Chapter Twelve**_

January 4, 1881

Despite the crisp and frigid wind that blew through the shacks and stalls along the Seine, the stench of animal entrails suffocated the noses of the people that passed through the streets. Butchers with their blocks soaked in blood were scattered on one side of the street while the fishermen were nearly buried alive in their piles of rotting fish-heads and bones. The sharpening of knives, the swings of mallets, and the harshly accented voices of the Parisian poor rang throughout the district.

In one of the makeshift shacks, two men could be seen bending over a pile of slimy fish innards as they prepared filets for sale to the upper class. One, who happened to be seated nearer to the stove, moved much quicker than the other. The second man, who sat far from the heat source and deep into the shadows of the shack, was shivering violently from the cold. His hands, heavily bandaged, were clumsy with the tools of his trade which more than once slipped from his awkward grasp. When his knife fell to the floor for a third time, his companion stood and threw the fish head which he had just removed at him.

"God-damned stupid Yankee! How the fuck canna it be so difficult for you to keep a hold on your knife? Where'd you learn to do this? Can you work at all? No! You're a useless ass, that's all you are. An absolute waste. More trouble keepin' you on than it's worth!" The other man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

Enoch bent over awkwardly and tried to pick up his knife but the other man kicked it from his hand and then ground the heel of his boot into the injured flesh of the other.

"I'm expectin' you to get this job done. If it ain't finished afore I get back, you're done here without pay. Understand, wretch?"

Enoch nodded his head, his few teeth biting into his tongue to keep him from crying out with the pain. The other man kicked him once more and walked outside to the street, leaving Enoch on the ground trying to control the pain. Eventually, with his breathing restored to almost normal, he climbed back onto his stool in the corner and began working on the pile of carcasses in front of him, not even noticing that his hand had begun to bleed through the bandages once more.

The cloth door swung open and Enoch flinched, fully expecting the wrath of his employer. Instead, his bleeding hand was grasped in-between two brown woolen mittens. Looking up in shock, Enoch found the concerned face of Rose O'Connor standing before him. He froze and could only watch as she examined his bleeding hand with a frown.

"I thought that I had instructed you to take better care of this, Mr. Simmons. I suppose I should fetch bandages and clean this up yet again…"

He began to shake uncontrollably as she toyed with the bandages to see the extent of the damage. She finally let go of his hand and pulled up the stool where his employer had sat to his table and, arranging her skirts so that they would not become soiled, sat down across from him.

"I suppose you are wondering why I'm here and how I found you." She stated with a slight smile. "William did not tell me where you work, if that is what you're thinking. The footman, however, is one of my personal servants and few things are kept secret between us."

"But, why…why have you come?" Enoch stammered as she removed her hat and peeled off her mittens, tucking them in her handbag.

"Well, firstly I didn't quite understand your need to run off as you did that morning. Your hands needed a seeing-to and I would've liked to see if you were faring any better after a decent night's sleep. Lord knows if your lodgings are anywhere in this district, you haven't been able to get a decent rest in quite a while." Saying this, she grimaced at the sight of the shack and pulled her brown wool coat tighter around her to ward off the chill.

"And I was also intrigued as to why you were ashamed of what you do for a living; there's no shame in honest work, as distasteful as it may be. And I've never been one to shy away from honest work." With this said she stood, donned one of the extra aprons, resumed her seat and, in an extremely unladylike manner, decapitated one of the fish from Enoch's pile.

His eyes were wide behind his leather mask as he watched her make fast work of the fish carcass, laying the meat aside from the waste. She moved to take another but he laid a bandaged hand on her own, stopping her movement.

"Please…what are you doing?" He asked in horror. She shrugged off his hand and took another fish, scaling it and filleting it as she answered.

"I heard him tell you that you'd be dismissed if this wasn't finished. You won't be able to get all of this completed with hands like yours and so I'm helping you." She stated simply as she scraped her knife clean and began removing the tiny bones from the meat.

"My lady, please…this isn't your job. I…I appreciate your help but…"

"But what? Please keep in mind that I haven't always been a noblewoman; I lived in the slums for quite some time until the opera picked up enough for me to have my own funds. It would not have been the first time that I have done work like this."

"But, if he finds out…"

"How will he find out? Your boss is getting drunk again down at the café at the end of the street. Between the two of us, we should have this pile cleared away in no time and then you can rest those hands of yours. Besides, I don't understand why you continue to work for the brute. Surely there is someone here willing to work with you."

At this, Enoch hung his head in shame and muttered in a low voice "You've no idea how unwilling they are, my lady. It isn't good for business to take on a slow worker, especially if he has a face like mine…"

Rose's face reddened at that moment and betrayed her discomfort by gutting a fish more violently than necessary. She looked up at him and met his sorrowful dark eyes for a moment before returning to her work silently. Again Enoch hung his head, ashamed of what he had become, but then noticed that Rose had put down her knife and was staring at him intently.

He caught her gaze again and she bit her lip, almost as if she were embarrassed to voice her thoughts. She looked back down at the fish before her and went back to work before stating in a low tone "He told me about you, you know…"

"What?" Enoch asked in a strained voice.

"He…Enoch I mean, he told me about you. About why you worked as a soldier. That you had no connections, no family. He said you were a friend to him."

"He was a good man…" Enoch volunteered, extremely discomfited by this turn of events but remembering the good friend and comrade that he had found in the late Gregory Simmons. However, he could not for the life of him remember what he had written to Rose...

"Yes he was. And you were good to him; please don't think that I've forgotten. That's why I'm here, in a way…"

For the first time, Enoch sought out Rose's eyes to judge her expression. "What do you mean?" he asked guardedly.

She met his gaze and regarded him thoughtfully before answering. "You helped him a great deal; he wrote to me about you. He said that you had showed him the ropes, so to speak. And he wouldn't have wanted this to happen to you…"

Enoch's eyes darkened behind the mask. "I don't want your pity…"

Rose focused on the fish before her and shrugged her shoulders. "You don't have it. But you have my respect and as a man, you deserve more than this. Enoch would've wanted it that way and I agree. You know that his opera has been extremely successful; you've certainly had to hear by now. If it weren't for your intervention, it never would've been published. And I have made quite a profit on the initial investments…"

"I refuse to take your money…"

"I haven't offered it." Rose replied flippantly. "What I'm offering is very little, but hopefully enough to help you to make a life again. Surely you cannot be happy as a wandering laborer. And what is even worse is that there are several men in your position and even more women and children left behind with nothing and no way to support themselves. Due to recent events, I am going to have to stop my travels for a while but I want the opera to continue to be played. The proceeds are going toward a veterans' fund that I have started that will help those who need help to start a new life. I won't be able to oversee things any longer, but several of my servants and friends will and I'm asking you to join them. We need people who are willing to work, who are willing to help to make this happen. I'm asking you to join us; not for forever, of course. Just long enough to get yourself out of this lifestyle; the pay I'm offering for your help is quite good."

Enoch stared at her incredulously; this was hardly the form that he had expected her charity to take. "Then why would you offer this to a cripple? Surely there are hundreds of…"

"I need people I can trust." She quickly interrupted. "This work, Enoch's work, remains very dear to me. I don't want just anybody handling this. I need those whom I can trust. Enoch trusted you. I trust you. Please tell me that you'll help me…"

"My lady, I…"

"And if you say no, then at least let me talk to a fisherman I know here who can take you on. You've no idea how much it upsets me to see a man treat you like this…"

Enoch found himself speechless. Rose looked up at him briefly, but quickly put her concentration back on her work. After a few moments, she broke the silence.

"I do not need an answer right away and I understand if you wish to refuse. But please don't think of this as charity. I really do need the help and if you'd be willing…"

She finished with her last fish and scraped her knife clean on the table. Enoch had frozen, his eyes never leaving her form as she removed her apron and stood before him. She rinsed her hands in a nearby bin of water and shivered at the freezing temperature. Looking at him again, she laughed slightly.

"I don't know how you can stand these bloody cold temperatures, Mr. Simmons. Or perhaps you've already frozen through; you haven't moved in ages!"

Enoch started at that remark and returned her gaze a moment before asking in a low voice "What about the baron? Why won't he help you?"

"He already has, Mr. Simmons. I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for his love and support. He had given me everything that he is able to give and it's time for me to consider his needs now. He deserves a pleasant home and family; his life has not been easy either. I care very much for him and I believe that it is time to make something of that love. Heaven knows I did my best to ignore it as long as possible."

She walked away from him and stared at the fire burning low in the stove before muttering in a broken voice "I cringe when I consider what Enoch must think of me now; mourning for him and behaving like a child for these so many years…"

Enoch, who had looked down at his mangled hands with a horrible feeling of regret and shame, now lifted his head once more in shock at her words. The dim light from the stove illuminated Rose's face as tears ran down her cheeks and, with her half-frozen hand, she wiped them away angrily.

Slowly, Enoch dragged himself to his feet and carefully approached her. He took one of her hands in his and she looked at him questioningly but then hung her head in an attempt to hide her tears. Despite the state of his hands and his face, despite his handicaps and his inadequacies, Enoch took her slight form in his arms and held her tightly as she broke down into quiet sobs. He gently stroked her shoulders, whispered reassurances, and even pressed his masked cheek into her luxurious hair. The two stood together, both holding the other and marveling to themselves at how right it felt.

When her sobs had ceased, she still remained in the sanctuary of his battered arms. Forgetting himself, he pressed a light kiss into her hair and whispered to her "My dear Rose, all will be well…"

Rose stiffened in his arms once these words were voiced. She looked up at him suddenly; her watery eyes filled with pain yet shock. She reached toward his face slowly and in a disbelieving voice, she quietly said "My God…for a moment I could have thought…I almost believed…"

She shook her head as if to dismiss the thought and gently pulled away from him. She still stared at him in shock while he stood before her, half willing her to come to the conclusion that was forming in her mind and half dreading her discovery of the truth. She moved her lips as if to say something but seemed to think better of it and merely wiped her eyes. Enoch could see her erect her façade of calmness and control and within seconds, not even her emerald eyes betrayed the conflict of emotions going on within her soul.

"I apologize, Mr. Simmons, for my behavior. I'm afraid my emotions have been in turmoil as of late; there's just too much excitement for a woman such as myself. Back to our prior topic of conversation, I really would like an answer from you."

"My lady, I need time to think…"

"Oh, I know that you need time. It's completely understandable. When do you think that you might have an answer for me, sir?"

"My lady, I really don't know…"

"I have an idea" Rose interrupted, her eyes flashing with barely concealed excitement. "You are not planning on attending the opera, are you?"

Gesturing to his surroundings, Enoch merely replied "I'm afraid that the cost of a seat is a bit beyond my means."

"Then join my party on opening night. I've reserved several boxes on the grand tier for that evening and we can easily arrange for you to have a place."

Looking at her with something akin to pain, Enoch gestured to himself and said "I hardly think that I will make a welcome addition to your group. I'm afraid that I'm unfit for such appearances."

"Nonsense," Rose stated airily. "You are more than welcome to join me in my box but if you'd prefer more privacy I will arrange that as well. Box Seven was reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Lyle, old friends of William's, but Mrs. Lyle has been ill with a cough and so they didn't make the trip from London. We were just going to let the box, but you may certainly have it. Believe me, it's in a quite private location as they never rent the box to the left of it and Mme. Giry is responsible for patrons seated in that area. She's mercifully discreet and ensuring your comfort will be of no problem at all. Please say you'll join us."

"My lady…"

"Please, Mr. Simmons. I'd love for you to see this and for you to tell me what you think. I've been working toward this goal for nearly five years and I would love to have your support. You can tell me your decision then." Rose pleaded.

Enoch could no more resist her pleas than he could resist breathing. Quietly, he assented and she smiled her dazzling smile for him. Fishing in her handbag, she removed a handful of tickets and shifted through them until she found the one she was seeking. Handing it to him, she instructed him to arrive an hour before the performance at the patron's entrance so that his privacy would be ensured. Donning her hat and gloves again, she brushed off her coat and left him with a quiet farewell.

He resumed his seat among the fish carcasses, all gutted thanks to her deft hands and stared into the fire, wondering how he could ever have been so careless to have involved himself with her after so many lies.

_A/N: Okay, so two updates in one week (the week before finals, to boot)… THAT is a sign of the apocalypse! This chapter was also a tad rushed and is shorter than the others but it merely is setting up for the next chapter which will be the opening performance of_ '_Czarina Catrina'. And in the tradition of all phantom phics, the opening performance of any opera normally is accompanied by a climax or major plot twist. Needless to say, the next chapter won't be up until the finals are finished since I'm intending for it to be a big one…_

_Anyways, I'd like to thank loyal reviewers Olethros, Neshomeh, and Lil Shady for bearing with my absence and for your reviews. Your support is precious to any author and it made my day to see that you enjoyed my continuation of this piece. Thanks!_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_Author's Note: What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine…all for one and all for me…wait, I think I may have gotten a wire crossed somewhere...oh well, I think you know that Enoch, Rose, William belong to me. Carlotta and Carlos Fontana and Mme. and Meg Giry (and stupid brunette, too!) belong to Leroux. Erik would belong to me, except I think that I'd be too jealous of the fact that he would constantly be leaving my fictions to go to others and to star in horrible film versions (no, I'm NOT a movie phan, but I do own it in my collection)._

_**Patron of the Opera – Chapter Thirteen**_

January 7, 1881

Erik sat quietly in his column waiting for the remainder of the audience to straggle in to the auditorium for the start of the performance. The calm and casualness of the concierges and managers as they greeted the patrons was definitely a façade; to say that anyone in the opera company was comfortable today would be nothing but a lie.

The problems had started at the beginning of the day with a set collapsing and nearly crushing La Carlotta; it had taken all of Rose's finesse to smooth the ruffled feathers of the diva until she consented to perform in the evening. A stagehand had ruined some costumes accidentally by dropping a can of red paint onto the table where they were laid out in preparation for the night. One of the first violins had opened his instrument case to find that a rat had chewed through some of the hairs on his bow. Then, a minor dispute between the ballerinas resulted in several malicious pranks being pulled on each other, all the while claiming that O.G. had been at fault; soon everyone believed that the Opera Ghost was showing his displeasure at this evening's performance.

For possibly the first time, Erik was in no way involved with any of the minor mishaps that were occurring backstage that were attributed to him. He had kept to himself all day and the only thing that Erik was displeased with was the increasing pallor of Rose's cheeks. He had watched her carefully since the night of the masquerade ball and had been behind the mirror when she had tended to Enoch Ardenson's wounds without so much as a flinch.

He was forced to admit that his respect for the woman had grown greatly over the past weeks. He already credited her with having a backbone and the ability to influence others toward a greater good. She was also an honest woman and knew her limitations; two other traits that leant greatly to his estimation of her. But despite all of her good characteristics, nothing changed the way he viewed her more than those horrid moments at Ardenson's side.

Given his experience with other's reactions to his own face, the fact that the woman did not openly show her disgust at the hideously mangled features of the soldier spoke greatly for her character. He had no idea how any woman could bear to look upon such ugliness and willing to comfort it, but he found himself yearning for the type of acceptance so freely offered to the unfortunate Enoch.

And today, Erik could see that Rose's acceptance of the ill-named Mr. Simmons extended much further than he had thought. He had not believed the rumors until he had seen it with his own eyes; Rose had arranged for Enoch to have one of the best seats in the house in order to see the opera. He had overheard the quiet discussion Rose had conducted with Mme. Giry outside his box in which it was divulged that Rose had moved the intended occupants of that box to another at a very great expense in order to "ensure Mr. Simmons' comfort". He knew that Rose had arranged for Mme. Giry to see to Ardenson's installation in the box next to his and only moments before, he had heard the woman escort him to his chair and bustle about to make him more comfortable.

Rose had not been able to visit with Ardenson prior to the performance. She had been backstage trying to handle the last minute demands and had been left with only a half an hour to stage her 'grand entrance' when Erik had last seen her. In order to keep up the façade of calmness and control, Rose had quickly dressed in her dressing room and had left the Opera from one of doors on the Rue Gluck and into a waiting brougham. The brougham drove her to where William's carriage was waiting and thus she engineered the entrance society expected of her.

He had seen her enter her box on William's arm, dressed in an elaborate gown of green silk that showed off her Irish coloring to its best. She had looked anxious, but it was to be expected at such a performance. Greeting the other occupants of her box, two elderly couples which had greeted William with great affection, she sat and arranged her gown and lifted her opera glasses to examine the occupant of Box Seven. Nodding in that direction with a smile, she obviously relaxed and returned her attention to the stage.

The orchestra tuned and the overture began, the lights of the great chandelier were only slightly dimmed and Erik took the opportunity to read the program left to him by Mme. Giry. The overture in itself was unremarkable; Ardenson's true talent lay not in instrumental, but in choral arrangements. It was for this reason that Erik had noticed the opera in the first place. He assumed that Ardenson had known his limitations and had skillfully incorporated his best works into this one masterpiece. This opera was notably missing a great deal of the entr'actes and other transitional movements until the very end of the piece when, Erik assumed, Rose had taken over and completed it to the best of her abilities.

But despite the mediocrity of the overture and opening scenes, the best parts lay in the second and third acts, Erik had to confess that the opera's plot was a work of pure genius. Somehow, it incorporated every aspect of life within a mere three hour span and it was for this reason that it appealed almost unanimously to every audience member to which it was performed. For romantics, there was the love story of handmaiden Svetlana and foot soldier Nikolai, two young people whose love prevailed over all obstacles. For lovers of comedy, there were the interactions between the Czar's generals and noblemen; even Erik had to confess that the humor had brought a brief smile to his lips. Tragedy was rampant throughout the third act as well.

For those who preferred stories that dealt more with revenge than love, there was the tragic tale of the Czarina, a woman who strove to take vengeance on her husband who had betrayed her trust and her love. Erik had been rather surprised by Ardenson's portrayal of the Czarina, especially as the role had been written for Rose. Her character was definitely the most colorful and that which required the most emotion. The Czarina was a woman of intense passions, a personality that needed to be conveyed properly to the audience, as well as a woman of change. A dramatic transformation occurred during each scene in which she appears. Her first appearance near the middle of the first act shows how her emotions flow from happiness to sorrow when she hears of her husband's betrayals (involving forbidden liaisons with mistresses as well as an assassination plot on the Czarina, herself). In her next aria, her sadness is changed to a pain which she struggles to alleviate. By the end of the second act, her pain is changed to hatred and a lust for revenge. It was for this reason that Carlotta, despite her soprano range and Erik's personal opinions of her talent, was the best candidate besides Rose for this role.

The opera ended with the Czarina driven to madness by her hatred, the Czar and his followers slaughtered at the hands of an invading army (an end skillfully engineered by the Czarina, of course!), and the beautiful Svetlana is left a widow; somehow, Erik knew that Ardenson had definitely not intended for such an ending. Despite the finality of the piece, the points it addresses were very clear and poignant. The Czarina repents for her behavior just as the Czar does for his and the audience is left with a feeling of acceptance; the fate that befalls each character is quite fitting.

As the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the curtain rose, Erik saw one of the stage hands point in his box's direction. Caution moved him to sit closer to his column than he normally would so that he would have a greater chance of escape should they try to discover him. The first choral number started, a simple Russian folk melody sung by the peasants, and Erik relaxed in his seat, determined to enjoy the performance.

It was about fifteen minutes later during Nikolai's aria that Erik heard a disturbance in Box Seven. He as well as the occupants of several nearby boxes redirected their attention from Carlos Fontana on stage to the scuffle that was transpiring in the auditorium. Almost as soon as it had started, the noises stopped and the audience returned to the show. However, Erik possessed an acute sense of hearing and clearly heard the whispered taunts of the stagehands who believed to have captured the opera ghost…

Strategically positioning himself against the curtain of his box, he looked into Box Seven and found that Ardenson was missing. Only his tattered opera cloak and hat remained on the floor of the box and the velvet seat in which he had been seated lay on its side. The door to his box was wide open.

Erik was horrified; there was no telling what the men would do if they really believed that Ardenson was responsible for O.G.'s crimes. There was no way that he could approach those men single-handedly and even Mme. Giry would be of no use to him as she was with the ballerinas preparing for the next choral number. He knew of only one other person who had enough influence to intervene.

As stealthily as possible, Erik made his way to the other side of the auditorium until he stood at the door to Box Four. Deciding that he had no other alternative, he quickly opened the door and stepped into the shadow as the occupants turned around in shock.

"Excuse me, Lady O'Connor. I need a word with you."

Rose's green eyes widened with shock and she moved to stand but William restrained her. "Surely, monsieur, this matter can wait until after the performance."

Speaking deliberately, Erik stated "I'm afraid that this is of the most urgent matters. Lady O'Connor, please…"

William moved to ring the concierge's bell but Rose put her gloved hand over his and looked intently at the masked phantom. "It is alright, William. This is…Olivier Garfunkle. One of the anonymous patrons. I'm certain that he would not disturb us without good reason. Isn't that so, Monsieur Garfunkle?"

She stared at him with an expectant gaze and he suddenly realized that all eyes in the box were on him and waiting for an answer. He couldn't inform the rest of her party of his identity but he needed her to know! In a moment of desperation, he seized upon the only idea that he had to give her the information confidentially.

Lapsing into his faultless Russian and praying that she would understand, he quickly stated "Your guest in Box Seven was mistaken for me with his mask. They've taken him backstage…"

He had not even finished his sentence when she whirled around in her seat and checked the opposing box with her opera glasses. Her eyes widened and her jaw stiffened but when she stood and turned around, she had pasted a false smile on her face. Only her emerald eyes betrayed her fear.

"Excuse me, everyone. A bit of a problem arose backstage and I'm needed in order to attend to it. Please just stay and enjoy the show and I'll be back in a moment."

She ignored William's pleas and swept outside with Erik at her heels. Walking quickly down the back staircase she turned to him and asked "Where have they taken him?" in an almost frantic voice.

"I am not sure" he answered, truthfully. "They've definitely taken him backstage, I know that much. They were not being too discreet…"

"So I can find them easily. You had best go and leave me to this; you mustn't get involved as well, Monsieur." With this said, she lifted the voluminous skirts of her gown and ran through the dimly lit passageways to the rear of the theater. Erik followed her stealthily, using his secret doorways to keep himself concealed until they both found the crowd that was circled around a bruised and bleeding Enoch Ardenson.

The stagehands that had captured him had removed his wig and mask as well as the outer garments which he had worn that evening. Dressed in only his shirtsleeves and ripped trousers, Enoch desperately tried to protect himself from the blows of the men by curling into a fetal position on the ground. Joseph Buquet moved in to deliver a kick to his groin, but he was suddenly pulled backward and thrown on his rear by a pair of green silk-clad arms. Rose ran into the circle and yelled for order but it was not until she threw herself over the shaking body of Enoch Ardenson did the blows cease.

"Stop it! Stop this madness now!" Rose yelled until the group's attention focused on her and not the man underneath her.

"You wretched monsters, how dare you do this? What right do you have to do this to this man?"

The crowd stepped back; all eyes wide as they watched Rose gently coax Enoch into a sitting position. She stood and turned to face the group, her eyes shooting fire at all she saw. Finally, her gaze settled on Buquet, who had just ungracefully lifted himself from the floorboards.

"I demand an answer immediately" she stated in a dangerously quiet voice. "Who started this?"

Buquet muttered something under his breath and Rose sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. Almost hissing with fury, she restated her question.

"We found the ghost, m'am. That'll be why we took 'im. To make 'im pay for all the problems we've been havin'."

Erik could see Rose's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as she looked almost directly to his concealed position in the shadows. She closed her eyes and visibly forced herself to regain her composure as the rest of the company looked on. When she opened her eyes again with her hands still clenched in fists, she announced in a low voice "This man is Lieutenant Gregory Simmons from the United States Army and is one of my honored guests this evening. He is not, nor will he ever be the ghost of your imaginations. Get back to work. The soldier's chorus is up next and you are lucky that your antics haven't been heard in the auditorium."

She stared at the crowd until a few people moved toward their places in the wings; many still stood and stared at the man crouched on the floor. Ignoring their stares, she turned back to the man on the ground, his poor head hung against his chest in shame. She knelt down on the floor and reached out to him, stroking his mangled face with her gloved hands. Tears began to swim in her green eyes and in a broken voice, Erik heard her mutter in English "Oh Mr. Simmons, I'm so sorry…"

She offered her hands to help him from the ground and he hesitantly accepted. The crowd still looked on in shock as she offered him her lace handkerchief to wipe the sweat, tears, and blood from his visage. As he did so awkwardly due to his injured hands, Rose straightened and brushed off his clothing, her hands deftly refastening buttons as they flew across his upper body. As she worked, she murmured soft apologies in his ear; her own eyes were shining with unshed tears. However, she suddenly froze when her fingertips encountered the collar of his worn shirt.

From his place in the shadows, Erik clearly heard her quick intake of breath and could actually see the blood drain from Rose's face as she lifted a delicate gold chain from the folds of his ripped shirt. He watched in morbid fascination as Enoch noticed his error and pulled away, his face contorting in agony and shame as Rose's emerald eyes burned like gimlets as realization came to her.

Enoch had stepped back when he saw that Rose had discovered the chain, but Rose had kept a steel grip and he was limited in movement for fear of breaking it. Shame and humiliation overwhelmed him as he watched her beautiful face turn white in shock and a great knot of fear formed in his stomach when he looked into her eyes which had turned as hard and cold as ice.

"What is this?" she hissed in English. He tried to move away but she pulled on both the chain and his shirt and brought him closer to her. When he didn't answer, she shook him and nearly screamed in anger "Where did you get this!"

The group of bystanders who had been straggling away now reformed the circle around the two, their attention fixed on the show before them despite the fact that they could not understand a single word that was being said. Enoch's broken mouth ran dry with anxiety and he struggled to speak.

"It's…it's nothing…an old keepsake…"

She released his shirt but then slapped him smartly across his scarred cheeks. As his head rocked from the blow, she ripped the delicate chain from his throat. His mangled hands flew up to his neck as if to catch it and he held them in front of his face in an expression of fear as he watched Rose open the locket attached to the chain. If it had been possible, her face turned even whiter while her eyes burned with a fury that he had never seen before. Desperate to hide his identity from her, he decided to lie.

"I'm sorry…I kept it when he died…it's valuable and I thought that I might sell it if…"

"Sell it?" she coldly interrupted. "For what? You expect me to believe such lies! It is a worthless piece of gold, hardly worth a dollar. Its only value is to the one to whom it was given. Where did you get this?"

She grabbed his collar with her hand and roughly pulled his face down to her level. Erik watched along with the rest of the crowd as she stared into his dark, wet eyes. After a few seconds, she seemed to find what she had been seeking and let go of his collar, her free hand shaking with undisguised tremors. Her arms hanging limply at her sides, Rose turned her stricken face up toward the heavens and quietly moaned "Oh, God…"

Enoch fell to his knees before her and desperately grasped the silken hem of her skirts between his twisted fingers. "It isn't what you think!" he cried in a voice thick with unshed tears. "I know it was wrong to take it…please, in the name of God forgive me!"

His voice seemed to bring Rose back to her senses and she looked at the broken man before her. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. In a low whisper, she moaned "How could you do this? Enoch…_why_?"

Meg Giry who had been watching along with the rest of the cast turned to the brunette standing next to her and asked "What is happening? What are they saying?" The low whisper attracted Rose's attention and she turned away from Enoch and faced the crowd, suppressing her pain and struggling desperately to keep her composure.

"Why are you all still here? There is the opera to consider; the show is still running. Hurry along, you must not miss your entrances."

When nobody moved, Rose actually yelled out her commands and the majority of the cast and crew resumed their positions and prepared for their first entrance. Only Carlotta and the female choristers and ballerinas remained. Rose had closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore the barely stifled sobs of the man behind her but Carlotta's shrill voice quickly brought her attention back to the immediate present.

"I cannot perform like this! I feel about to faint!" the diva remarked. Rose opened her eyes, two emeralds which has lost all of their sparkle, and in an exhausted voice stated "It is too late to back out now, Carlotta. Please just go on with the performance."

"Perform? I cannot perform after seeing something as hideous as that! He's a grotesque freak…"

"Enough, Carlotta. I don't care to hear your objections. Please just get in your place and the best of luck to you in the show." Rose stated firmly, albeit tiredly.

"It is not possible for me to perform. How am I to perform when each time I close my eyes I see that mangled face! My character was meant to be passionate and beautiful and unsoiled by such filth as _that_; I cannot perform after seeing such a disgusting…"

The sound of bone crunching echoed throughout the backstage area as Rose's gloved fist made contact with the diva's pointed nose. The latter cried out and actually did faint as the blood flowed from her nostrils and into her hands and the rest of the crew looked to Rose with horror; she had just assaulted their leading lady!

Unfazed by this, Rose simply called for Mme. Giry and Clothilde the seamstress and, in the wings of the stage, they worked to free her from the lovely green silk gown and helped her to don the robes of the Czarina. The make-up girl brought over the communal face paints and within ten minutes, the true Czarina had made her return. She walked over to her entrance position in almost a trancelike state; she had shown no emotion since she had broken the diva's nose.

As she stood watching the stage, it seemed as though something reoccurred to her and she looked back in the direction of Enoch Ardenson, who still lay prostrate on the floor with his hands holding his face. She called over two stagehands and in a toneless voice ordered them to 'restore Mr. Simmons to his box but make absolutely sure, for fear of your jobs, that he is escorted to my dressing room at the end of the performance.'

They had to forcibly move him from the floor and almost carried him away as he continued to beg Rose for forgiveness. It cannot be said that she pointedly ignored his pleas as she showed no response at all to anything. By the time that he was reseated in Box Seven, the first half hour of the performance had passed and the curtain rose on Czarina Catrina's opening aria.

_A/N: Well, that's chapter thirteen, completed on Friday the thirteenth…wish I could say that I posted it at 13:00 but that isn't the case! Anyways, I'd like to thank my faithful four reviewers for all of your support (even passed P-chem!) from finals week and I hope that you enjoy this twist and continuation of the story. The next updates might be a bit delayed since I'm going full-time through my school's summer semester and I spend 8 hours per day in classes; that is, of course before we even talk about how much homework they dish out! But you needn't fear, I'll be updating a heck of a lot sooner than I did with chapters 11 and 12! For those of you with your own finals looming ahead, best of luck to you!_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_Author's Note: Actually, everyone here belongs to me for a change. The story was inspired by Susan Kay as well as Tennyson._

**_The Patron of the Opera - Chapter Fourteen_**

Two hours later, the entire audience of the Opera Garnier rose in a standing ovation to the performers onstage. The opera was an immediate success and once the lights rose in the house, dozens of patrons rushed to the back of the theater in hopes of meeting the cast of the magnificent opera. Instead of meeting Rose O'Connor, they were abruptly turned away and sent to the salon which had been prepared by Baron Harrington to include a vast wine and liquor bar. With these distractions, none noticed two stagehands escorting a lame, disfigured man to the last door in the dimly lit artists' corridor.

Extremely uncomfortable and hopelessly humiliated, Enoch did his best to maintain his composure as the two stagehands gently helped him along the dark and cramped passages. They moved in silence but were quite careful to ensure his comfort on his second trip backstage; they supported his weight on the steps and even held doors for him so that he would not have to struggle with his hands. All too soon and finding himself nervous to the point of nausea, he again stood outside the wooden door of Rose's dressing room. The stagehands knocked and waited briefly before pushing him inside.

The only light in the room came from an oil lamp which was turned down to the dimmest possible level. Rose was not in the room and Enoch forced himself to remain standing until she would enter, the dull pain in his damaged leg was a welcome distraction from the aching of his heart. He took brief notice of the contents of the room and apparently, her tastes had not changed although her social status had; many of the furnishings were of similar taste to those that had been in her small apartment in New York. He slowly limped over to her desk which was now scattered with notes from the opera as well as a pile of expensive wedding invitations. It was with another wave of pain that Enoch realized that Rose and William were planning to be married in little more than a month.

Holding the crisp stationary in his hand, Enoch felt his stomach twist as he read the announcement in Rose's fine, copperplate hand. From the number of invitations, it seemed as though the wedding would be a quiet affair despite William's aristocratic station but Enoch noticed with some discomfort that the majority of the guests were William's family and friends; he only recognized two of the names which belonged to Rose's friends. He gently laid the fine paper back on the pile and stepped away, trying desperately to ignore the pain that seemed to be tearing his heart apart.

The rest of the room was in shambles; it was obvious to Enoch that someone had ransacked Rose's trunk in search of the other Czarina costumes as Carlotta's garments were far too large for the smaller woman. He walked slowly over to the opened container and looked into it, his breath catching in his throat when he saw a sea of white satin swimming within its cedar confines. With difficulty, he knelt and sadly fingered the beautiful material as tears flooded his dark eyes. He remembered the very day that he had commissioned this dress; his unattractive yet normal face had burned with embarrassment as he struggled to give the seamstress Rose's intimate measurements. He had imagined how Rose would look dressed in the fine satins and laces and dreamed of how her face would light up at the sight of this creation. But now, as he knelt painfully upon the floor of her dressing room, the gown only mocked him. No longer did the fine fabric hold promises of the future, it had become merely the cloth upon his altar of shattered dreams.

Hesitantly, he let his mangled fingers fall into the trunk and brushed them across the soft material. Unable to resist, he raised the gown from its slumber and carefully lifted it from the trunk and into his arms, barely taking note of the small lavender sprigs that had been carefully folded into the fabric. He carried the gown over to her chaise where he laid it out carefully upon the cushions. Kneeling again upon the floor, he lowered his unmasked face and reverently kissed the soft cloth before breaking into incontrollable tears. He was so distracted and distraught that he did not hear the door open behind him.

Rose took in the sight before her with a twinge of guilt; she had not expected to find Enoch crying into her wedding gown as she had done so many times before in recent years. Slowly, she walked over to his bent form and gently laid a firm hand on his shoulder. He immediately stiffened and released the gown's skirts from his desperate grasp. She realized that he would never willingly face her in these circumstances and so she decided to speak first.

"I'll have you know that I went through a great deal of trouble to fold that dress properly and now look at the mess you've made of my hard work…" she said in a voice that she desperately tried to keep free from tears.

Enoch turned about immediately, amazed that she could still find it within herself to tease him under such circumstances. She was still dressed in her costume from the last scene of the opera and when he lifted his eyes to see her face, he was horribly ashamed for being responsible for the pain in her intense gaze. He moved to turn away from her, but her gentle grip on his shoulder tightened and forced him to look in her direction.

In a flat, deadened voice, Rose stated "I do not want any lies. I want no more deception, no more running from the truth. I don't want to know how this happened, nor who was involved nor when it happened. All I want to know is why. Why would you do this, Enoch? Why would you lie to me?" Her voice broke off at the last question as tears closed up her throat.

Enoch could no longer look her in the face and lowered his head. He swallowed painfully and willed his voice not to betray him. "I…I couldn't face you like this, Rose…I'm no longer the man I once was…"

"Why couldn't you face me? Did you think me so shallow as to reject you for your injuries?"

A gasp tore from Enoch's throat and he grasped the hem of her beaded skirts in supplication. "No! I never thought that of you…"

She remained unmoved by the desperate note in his voice. In the same deadened tone, Rose asked "Then what was it? Why did you refuse to come home to me? Why did you allow me to believe that you were dead?"

"I couldn't come home to you like this…" Enoch whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Why?" was the only question that Rose cared to voice.

Enoch, extremely uncomfortable by the proceedings, grasped for some way to tell her, for some way so that she would understand. He never could've borne her pity; it would've been impossible for him to marry her when he was incapable of providing her with the life she deserved. How could he tell her that he had loved her so much that he thought it best to give her to another?

"I was...am...unable to be the husband that you deserved. I no longer have anything to offer you."

Rose took a deep breath and paused before voicing her next question. Her grip on his shoulder tightened with anxiety as she asked "Was it because you no longer loved me? Did you no longer wish to marry me, Enoch? Is that why you left?"

Enoch lifted his head instantly andwas horrified thatshe had jumped to this conclusion. Forthe first time, he found the courage to meet Rose's eyes. "Never" he declared passionately. "I've never stopped loving you. I have loved you and will love you until my dying day." He had hoped that this admission, this honest reply would erase the pain that he saw in her pale face. Despite all of his actions, it had always been his greatest effort to cause her the least amount of pain.

However, this passionate statement only caused Rose's face to harden into the stone-like expression that she adopted to conceal her emotions. Her grip on his shoulder became vice-like and her nails bit through the thin material of his shirt and into the tender flesh beneath. She lowered her head until it was mere inches from his scarred face and when she spoke, her voice was little more than a hiss issuing from between her two perfect, rose-bud lips.

"If you truly loved me, then why did you leave? Why did you lie to me, only to appear when I was finally ready to accept love from another? Did you ever think of how much I loved you, of how much I wanted and needed you? Did you ever consider the consequences of your actions? How could you be so selfish?"

She wrenched her skirts from his desperate grasp and stormed across the room to her bureau. Grabbing one of the wedding invitations from the pile, she returned and shoved the document into Enoch's nerveless hand.

"One month, Enoch. Only one month away from my wedding and you decide to appear. You've been masquerading as Simmons for the last four years – why did you come to me now? Regardless of your face, I would've welcomed you home. I would've nursed you, I would've cared for you. I loved you, Enoch, didn't you know that? I loved you!"

Tears fell freely from her green eyes but she made no move to wipe them away. Instead, she towered over Enoch's hunched form while he cowered at her feet. In an inarticulate voice, he whispered "I'm sorry…I didn't want to hurt you…"

Rose actually screamed with rage as she threw the Czarina's headdress across the room where it shattered the small mirror above her dresser. Reaching down, she grabbed Enoch by his collar and forced him to look at her. He could not help but flinch as he saw the fire burning in her eyes and when she opened her mouth to yell at him.

"You didn't want to hurt me! I cried for you! I mourned for you for four years! I hurt William time and time again just because I could not stop loving you! Despite how much he loved me, despite all of his understanding and compassion, I would've given anything for you to return – I would've sold my soul to the Devil himself for just one more hour in your presence. You thought that your death wouldn't have hurt me? It hurt everyone, even poor William. Exactly how stupid and foolish are you, you damned bastard, to think that this wouldn't have hurt me?"

With her free hand, she slapped Enoch soundly across his face. Her other hand, still grasping his collar, shook violently and after his head reeled from the blow, Enoch lifted his mangled hands and placed them gently about hers. "I'm sorry…"

She shook him roughly and continued to rave at him. His pleas went unheard and his voice became inarticulate in his desperation to explain himself. He yelled something incomprehensible to her ears and suddenly, she stopped her raving and looked at him questioningly. "What did you just say?" she whispered.

He didn't bother to take the time to speak clearly. "If I had returned, I would've been a burden to you…"

The anger faded almost instantly as Rose took the time to examine the man before her. Tears ran in rivulets down his scarred face and the remnant of his nose ran freely. His mouth trembled with his sobs and twisted grotesquely to form his words. For the first time, she realized the severity of his injuries; his head was simply a mass of scar tissue and his hair, once black but now grey, only grew in scattered patches across his scalp. She actually felt faint when she took notice of the two hands grasping her own; his fingers had been severed at the knuckle, leaving only thick scar tissue where bone had once been. The worst part of this was when she actually acknowledged to herself that this poor man was Enoch and not some random, faceless soldier.

His mouth contorted as he tried to speak to her, but she could not understand his words. The utter horror of this realization made her ill and she could taste the bile rise up in the back of her throat; he had always been articulate and well-spoken in the past and now he could barely vocalize a simple sentence. Her hands shook uncontrollably with terror and pain as she let go of his collar and stepped away from him. He reached out to her pleadingly and again spoke, but his mouth refused to move and so his appeal to her was terribly distorted. Upon seeing this, she bit back a sob as tears flooded her eyes; her heart broke again at the mere sight of the creature that once was her lover.

Turning her back on him and rushing over to her chest of drawers, she rooted inside them desperately until she found the pair of silver flasks which she kept well hidden among her intimate items. With violently shaking hands, she randomly opened one of them and gulped down its contents without even checking the liquid's identity. She was fortunate as the flask did not contain laudanum; instead, the strong brandy inside helped to calm her and enabled her to approach Enoch for a second time.

Without a word, she moved over to him and helped him to rise from the floor, guiding him to the chaise. He sat down awkwardly, avoiding sitting on the tearstained wedding gown, and again pleaded with her for forgiveness. She looked at him sharply and silently took her hand and placed it over his thin lips. "Enoch, I…I cannot understand what you are saying…" she stated in a low voice.

Ashamed of his incompetence, Enoch silenced himself immediately. His scarred cheeks burned with embarrassment and he turned to hide his face from her, desperate not to let her see the pitiable creature that he had become. However, Rose took her hand and firmly turned his face back to face hers. She held up the flask of brandy and offered it to him, muttering under her breath "Despite all propriety and in true unladylike fashion, I think we both are desperately in need of a good, strong drink…"

He tried to grasp the small flask with his hands, but he was too uncoordinated to do so. When he would've turned away in his shame, she firmly kept her hand pressed to his cheek and brought the mouth of the flask up to his lips. She slowly poured the amber liquid into his mouth but he found himself incapable of swallowing it all; he had never been able to eat or drink properly ever since his injuries cost him part of his jaw. He prayed that she would not notice the dribble of fluid from the corner of his mouth, but she did notice and gently wiped the offending liquid away before finishing off the remainder of the brandy in the flask.

She knelt down in front of him, her elegant Czarina robes pouring around her, and put her other hand up on his face. Enoch's eyes closed in his humiliation and the tears continued to stream down his cheeks and over Rose's fingertips. She gently wiped them away, but suddenly found herself unable to gaze any longer at the ruin of his face. Her hands slipped from his cheeks as she bowed her head until it brushed against his knees, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably with sobs.

When Enoch felt her head settle in his lap, his eyes flew open and he looked at the blonde hair spread out in his lap. Slowly, he allowed himself to succumb to temptation and touched her for the first time in five years; his hands moved and gently lifted the wig from her head. He let his head fall as his scarred hands smoothed the tousled red strands of her hair as he had done many times so many years before.

In this sorrowful embrace, they cried together; her tears falling onto his feet as his dropped into her hair. They cried together, mourning the life that had been lost as well as the future that never would be.

_A/N: Sorry for the incredibly long lapse in updates; I sincerely did not expect this summer semester to be as intense as it has been. My finals are in the next two weeks but I hope to have the rest of the chapter revisions as well as the next updates posted relatively soon. My thanks to the reviewers and to the 'lurkers'; judging from the number of reviews, I was pleasantly surprised to see the number of hits this story has received. Your support will always be appreciated._

_Olethros, I always offer my thanks for your reviews and praise. It was nice to know that you enjoyed the direction that I took with this story and I'm glad that you liked the 'nonchalant' manner; I'm not that great when it comes to writing emotions and so it seemed best at the time to just 'tell it as it is', despite how painful it would've been for the characters involved. As always, many, many thanks for your continued support._

_Neshomeh, I daresay that I wasn't too thrilled myself with how the last chapter turned out especially given that it was such a major point in the plot...needless to say, I greatly appreciated your criticisms and have taken several of your suggestions to heart. The rewrite will be up shortly and will hopefully make the story flow a bit better. After letting the chapter sit for a bit and rereading your review with it about a month later, I was really shocked by how it turned out (it seemed a bit better when I posted :-D ) and that chapter, more than any other, was almost completely overhauled in the revision. Thanks so much for your support and for your help; all comments are always appreciated!_

_Lil Shady, I confess that I was very flattered to find myself on your fave authors list (thanks!) and I'm glad that you liked the latest installment of Patron as well as my most recent piece. Speaking of which, I would be very interested to see your take on a plot similar to mine; I always like to see another's point of view. I definitely wouldn't accuse you of plagiarizing (already had one author email me about an issue with my 'How Hungry' story...ugh...) and would very much like to read your work. I confess that you probably thought up that idea before I did as that piece barely made it from my head to the computer before posting; I had an idea during a free moment, wrote the story, and posted it the same day. The Ayesha comment was merely an afterthought on my part as I confess that I wanted to end it with a bit of a chuckle as it seemed to be a rather grim ending...but I do think that we'll be seeing a continuation of that story if you're interested. The Benefactor series, while still unupdated and the least liked of my work, is definitely a continuation of 'Fathers and Sons' once you get into the upcoming chapters. _

_Angeldemusique405, thanks for the email. As always, your input is greatly appreciated and I hope that you find this work to your liking!_

_Kokobunny, I confess that I was surprised to hear from you! It seemed that this storyonly attracted the same readers and it was nice tolearn that there weremore out in cyberspace. Thanks for the reviews and for making yourself known; I hope you enjoy this short continuation._

_Captain Oblivious, je voudrais vous remercier de votrerevue de mon histoire. Mon Français n'est pas bon, mais je pourrais comprendre tous ce que vous avez écrits. J'étais très heureux de trouver une revue complètement en français (il m'a permis de pratiquer mes capacités linguistiques). Merci de votre revue et le soutenez!_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_Author's Note: As always, anyone you recognize does not belong to me...of course, if you've been following this story for a while, you will recognize several characters that belong to me. Oh well, I suppose this is all just a moot point then. :-D_

**_The Patron of the Opera - Chapter Fifteen_**

No matter how hard he tried, Erik could not force himself to concentrate on his music. The notes simply would not flow as they should have under the guidance of his masterful hands. He was disturbed to find that the events above at the Opera had such an effect on him; for the last five years he had thought himself impervious to human emotion. Although his fingers pressed down upon the keys of his organ, he could not find the melody that he was seeking. Instead, the chords of Czarina Catrina's overture sounded and he ripped his hands from the keyboard as if burned. Frustrated, he held his masked face in his hands and finally allowed himself to ponder over the thoughts that had been troubling him for the past several days.

It was deeply disconcerting that the sorrowful tale of Enoch Ardenson had stirred up feelings and longings that Erik had long thought dead. While he had believed that he had come to terms with his self-imposed isolation, watching Rose tenderly caressing the disfigured countenance of her former fiancé had awakened in him a passionate yearning for human contact. It was with great bitterness that Erik reflected upon his own fate; even after the deception of such a ridiculous charade, Rose still found it within herself to reciprocate the adoration of her damaged lover. He knew that he would never be granted the love or even the friendship of another human being.

After Erik had led Rose backstage, he had watched the opera silently from a hidden post in the wings that had offered him a clear view of the stage as well as Box Seven. He had watched as Rose sang the arias written by her lover with all the passion within her being and his keen eyes had seen the tears that had fallen down Ardenson's twisted visage. A secondary glance at the rest of the audience showed that her display had reduced many of the patrons to tears and he uncomfortably noted that at the end of the performance, Rose wordlessly abandoned her colleagues and stormed away into the opera, her face was soaked with tears.

After the finale, he had snuck back to his place in the Communard passage and had silently witnessed the interaction between Rose and Enoch. He had been completely surprised that Rose had bothered to comfort Enoch at all. In all honesty and after drawing from his own life experiences, he had expected her to be angry and to quickly reject her lost fiancé. Even in retrospect, the man truly had nothing to offer her except his love; with the destruction of his body came the loss of his livelihood, Enoch's reappearance into her life could only bring her further anguish. Instead of the display that he had expected, Erik had borne witness to the sorrow of the two unfortunate lovers as they wept together over their fate.

In the end, it was William who had interrupted them by barging into her dressing room without even bothering knock. He had watched the couple silently before announcing that Rose's presence was required in the grand salon. In a frigid voice, William had dispelled any doubt about his knowledge of the current situation.

"Rose, the managers and patrons are waiting for you and I strongly suggest drying your face before you leave. I'm sure that Mr. Ardenson would agree with me in that you look particularly horrid in that state."

Rose had stood and instantly recognized the furious note in William's voice. Stepping forward and reaching out to him, she begged him to listen to her.

"William, please...this isn't what you think...William, listen to me..."

Erik had watched numbly as William bruesquely dismissed Rose's horrified pleas for his understanding - he silenced her with a wave of his hand and roughly escorted her by the elbow to her door. She ripped her arm from his and continued to beg him to acknowledge her, but his next statement was so cutting that it rendered her speechless.

"I've no interest in any more of your lies, Lady O'Connor. I cannot begin to express to you the loathing that I feel for you both at this moment. I suppose you've had a good laugh at my expense, but you will keep up appearances for a few more moments."

He forced her into the hallway and coldly stated that he thought it best to keep Mr. Ardenson company in her absence. He had slammed the door in her stricken face and whirled around to face his rival who was cowering before him.

"You absolute bastard. If I wasn't a better man and if you weren't a pitiful wretch, I'd kill you right where you stand."

Enoch had flinched at these words but desperately tried to speak out to William. "Please, baron. I never meant for this to happen..."

William's eyes flashed dangerously as he interrupted the other's slurred speech."_ You lied to me_. You deliberately misled me and took advantage of my good intentions. How long have you been plotting this? Did you two do this just to humiliate me?"

"No, we never plotted anything..."

"You expect me to believe you after all that you have done?" William hissed. "Don't you find it coincidental that you'd reappear after four years just to interrupt our wedding? Was it your intention to ruin my reputation, is that it?"

"I never wanted to hurt either of you..."

"You worthless monster! You haven't just hurt me, you've destroyed my happiness! I thought that she could finally love me and instead I learn that you've been deceiving me for years. How could I have ever been so naive?"

"Please, baron...Rose never lied to you. She is innocent; she never knew the truth..." Enoch whispered brokenly. "If there is someone to blame, it is only I."

William's gaze burned into Enoch and he stepped toward the cowering soldier threateningly. "You expect me to believe that she didn't know of you? After all the work she went through to get you to come tonight, you still expect me to believe in her ignorance?"

Enoch approached the baron and painfully knelt down on the carpeted floor. Bowing his head in a gesture of supplication, he slowly stated "I lied to both of you, Harrington. She didn't learn the truth until tonight, right before her entrance in the opera. I never meant for either of you two to know the truth. I had wanted you to marry her so that she would be loved and provided for..."

"You actually expect me to believe this? And where would you figure into her life if I were to marry her? Did you ever consider that?"

"I would not be part of her life," Enoch stated regretfully. "I cannot provide for her. I am no longer able to be the husband that she needs..."

"I am to believe that you would willingly relinquish your claim on her -you, who fought against all honest and decent society for her affections? What sort of fool do you take me for?"

"Please, baron..."

A soft knock on the door silenced their conversation and Enoch struggled to pull himself upright as William moved over to the door and answered it. In the hallway stood Meg Giry and her brunette friend; they both peered around William before meeting his gaze with a timid greeting."

"Monsieur le Baron, Mother told me to give this to Monsieur Simmons. She said that he would be here." Meg whispered and indicated the bundle of cloth in her arms.

"There's this as well, Monsieur le Baron." The brunette handed him a tousled wig and he took it with an expression of disgust on his perfect face. When he would have closed the door, the two dancers still had not moved and with a sigh, he questioned them about their continued presence.

"Oh, Monsieur, is it true?" Meg asked eagerly. "Is it true that he is really the composer? Did she really leave you for him?"

Both Erik and William's eyes widened in shock at the audacity of the petite ballerina. Even the brunette appeared horrified and began to offer stuttered apologies for her companion.

"Megan Giry, how dare you? Offer your apologies to the Baron at once, you impertinent girl!" called out an imperious voice from further down the hallway. Erik winced for Meg's fate when her mother appeared in the doorway, her thin face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Monsieur le Baron, please forgive my daughter's rudeness. Her sinful love of gossip is unpardonable, I know, but rest assured that she will cease this behavior immediately."

Megan and the brunette dancer offered their apologies and rushed away to escape Mme. Giry's wrath. The matron stayed behind and in a low voice, whispered to William "I must let you know that there is a great deal of speculation amongst the artists; a great many people watched Lady O'Connor's outburst. It would be best to decide now what story you wish to tell so as to curtail the rumors before they come."

William looked down at the tattered garments and wig in his arms before meeting the unnerving gaze of Mme. Giry. "What are they saying, Madame? What happened backstage during the performance?"

"Our stagehands are superstitious, Monsieur le Baron. They believed that Monsieur Simmons was the embodiment of a ghost that is said to haunt the opera and took him backstage. Lady O'Connor stopped them before they went too far." Mme. Giry replied in an ominous voice.

William looked back at the bundle of clothing and realized that they were the same ones that Enoch had worn to the masquerade ball. Finding fresh tears and bloodstains in the thin cloth, William recognized the significance of Mme. Giry's words and realized the reason for the urgency of the masked fellow who had interrupted their night of music.

"Tell me what happened with Rose, Mme. Giry. Why did she sing in Carlotta's place?"

"I don't really know, Monsieur le Baron. She had an altercation with Mr. Simmons and shouted at him in English...something regarding that locket I gave you, or so it seemed. She was upset and then Carlotta refused to go on. Lady O'Connor struck her in the face and I believe that she may have broken Carlotta's nose. I'm sorry, I do not understand English. But I can assure you that Carlotta behaved no worse than usual towards Lady O'Connor; I suspect that it was the argument with Monsieur Simmons that set her on edge."

"What are the rumors then?"

"One of the stagehands can understand some English and said that Lady O'Connor accused Monsieur Simmons of lying to her and stealing something that belonged to her last lover. The ballerinas have been sharing many rumors for months about Lady O'Connor's past and I believe that they've managed to convince themselves that Monsieur Simmons is her lost fiancé. I do not believe them for a moment, but many people will. That is why it is so important to address this matter now, Monsieur le Baron, before the rumors truly get out of control."

"Thank you for your time, Mme. Giry. I will address this situation. Please, Madame, would you be as kind as to inform Lady O'Connor that I wish to speak with her immediately. There is something I simply must say to her."

Mme. Giry nodded in assent and walked down the dimly lit hallway. William closed the door and, after dropping Enoch's belongings gently onto a desk, ran his hands through his thick hair in frustration. "I'm a fool...I cannot believe that I accused her like that...how could I have been so stupid?"

He loosened his cravat and rumpled his shirt as he continued to lose his composure. He paced back and forth through the room and muttered to himself "I'm an absolute idiot...how could I have done this? All of these years I loved her only to throw my chance away; how I must have shocked her! How I must have hurt her..."

Enoch watched as his former rival's persona crumbled with anxiety and despair. Reaching out to the other, he stated "She will certainly forgive you if only you ask."

"You don't understand, Ardenson." William replied, shaking his head in his frustration. "You may have loved her, but you never knew her as well as me. She may forgive me, but she will never marry me now."

"But she must!" Enoch was horrified; there was no life that he could offer Rose and for her to reject William now was comparable to suicide. "She simply must marry you; I can offer her nothing."

"She'll choose to marry neither of us, don't you realize that? She always was an honorable woman and never would've put herself in this position if she could've avoided it. She never would've made promises that she couldn't keep and she will not wish to choose between us." William stated in a resigned tone.

"But your wedding is in a month! You will return to England and she must go with you!" Enoch shouted, desperate to convince both his rival and himself that Rose's best interests lay in wedlock.

"It is over, Enoch. She may have married me if only to save our reputations but I broke her trust. I let her believe that I didn't trust her and she shall never marry me now."

"She must be your wife! You must help her!"

"I believe that I am no longer in need of assistance from either of you" Rose stated coldly from the doorway. The two men ceased their argument as she walked into the room, her czarina robes complementing and enhancing her regal stance and composure. It was obvious that she had spent the last minutes collecting herself; her face was cool and calm as she approached the two rivals for her heart. She walked over to the two men and stood before them, fixing both of them with a burning emerald gaze before approaching her desk.

"I wish to be left in peace and beg your indulgence in the matter. I confess that the performance this evening was quite exhausting and I wish to retire for the night." As Rose said this, she absently played with the scraps of paper that covered her desk. William reached out to her first and with a desperate voice, begged for her forgiveness.

"I am so sorry, Rose...you must understand..."

"_You_ must understand that I am exhausted and wish to retire for the night. Both of you, please leave me..."

"Rose, please listen to me..."

She slammed her fist down onto her desk, knocking several papers and books to the floor. Whipping around to face them, she was enraged as both men recoiled upon seeing her expression. "Are both of you deaf? I asked you politely to leave me in peace. Is that beyond your comprehension?"

She stormed over to the door and opened it with a forceful swing. William, upon deciding to give her the privacy she so craved, left first. He manfully schooled his expression to hide his despair when Rose pulled away from his embrace. Enoch followed him in silence, taking hold of his wig and jacket as he left the room. He met Rose's eyes as he walked through the doorway; he was horrified to find them as expressionless and cold as the emeralds they so resembled.

As soon as Enoch was gone, Rose slammed the door and locked it from the inside. Erik watched her with pity as she paced the room, her hands shaking uncontrollably at her sides. He had left her for propriety's sake; she still needed to undress from the performance and obviously needed time to compose herself. Later that evening, he had heard her sobs echoing from the room at the top of the Communard's passage down at the organ in his lair.

_A/N: Okay, this is really quite short when you compare it with the other chapters – there is a reason for this! I originally had written this chapter and the next as one, but too much happens and it got too confusing so I decided to cut it off here where the tapestry has been snagged; it will be the next chapter where it falls apart entirely. For this reason, I want to have the story finished in its entirety so that I can make the posts quickly one after another. It should not be too long until this is completed, but with school starting up so shortly after the last semester ended, I cannot guarantee anything just yet. I do intend to update with part two of this chapter sometime within the next week or so. Thanks for your patience._

_Sthrissa, thanks for your review and I hope that you enjoy the continuation of this piece. It's always a pleasure to hear from other authors and readers; thanks for your support!_

_LilShady, thank you so much for your continued support with this piece as well as the rest of my work. I hope that your summer has been slowing down so that you have time to enjoy it before heading off to college. When I first came to university, I also moved in early courtesy of our honors college and let me tell you, it saved me a ton of trouble come the major move-in day of my school. I'm at an urban university and moving is a total nightmare – I'm very glad to be done with all of that as I've leased my own apartment for the last two years. As a response to your review, I just wanted to let you know that Erik and Rose will interact with one another one last time before the end of this piece and that you needn't fret about the lack of Erik and other favorites; Rose and Enoch's story is just about finished while Erik and Christine's will continue. Oh, and about Erik dancing…I regret to say that he won't dance in this piece. But, when I finally get the courage to post Repetition on (given the response to similar pieces here, I'm a little less than eager to post such a project only to have it ripped apart!) , you'll find him dancing with the best of them! The best of luck to you in your upcoming semester and, despite sounding a bit cynical and disillusioned, may your college experience be better than mine was/is. Oh, and best of luck with the roommate if you've got one (personally, I think that everyone needs a wish for a compatible and good roomie!)._

_Unseenhope18, thank you for your review! I'm always thrilled to hear from other readers and am very happy that you enjoyed this story despite the lack of our regular characters. I can understand your trepidation about reading the newer additions to our fanfic library (the 2004 movie really did spawn some abysmal pieces if I have any room to talk) and am glad that you didn't hate mine! This piece is my first piece of fiction (although others have already been completed) and will always be special to me, even if the majority of phans dislike it or overlook it. Now, regarding your study abroad plans…have a wonderful trip! I've never been anywhere outside of North American and Europe, but my friends have always had wonderful things to say about their travels. It's slightly funny…I began writing this fic while abroad due to lack of other distractions and you're off to some exotic locale sans internet (I think I'd die!). I'm sorry to say that I don't think that I'll have it completely finished by the time you're scheduled to depart, but if you simply must know what I intend to do before you go, I could email you some spoilers if you wish (just drop an email or review with the request and address). The majority of this piece should be finished and uploaded in the upcoming weeks, so you should still be able to catch the end of the Rose-William-Enoch triangle and some of my transition to the PotO events that we all know and love. I'll do my best not to leave you with a major cliff hanger! Have a wonderful trip and best of luck to you with your preparations!_


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